Send Me On My Way
by E-quaintance
Summary: Anakin has been living in lower Coruscant with Watto for over half of his childhood; during an ordinary day, a strange man with a dangerous smile offers the fifteen-year-old a scholarship to attend his private academy. It's a bizarre deal, but maybe he'll be able to make a friend out of it. Matilda-inspired AU, but the principal is also a crime lord.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

 **Setting** : High School AU! Force-users aren't known in the alternative universe - so no celebrity-like Jedi or Sith. And no rampant slavery, either, though it obviously still exists. This still takes place in the SW universe, with the different species and planets and the advanced technology.

 **Warnings** : nongraphic violence and referenced abuse of a minor; mild language.

PLEASE NOTE: This is an updated version of the first chapter as of January, 2018. I didn't like the previous edition, it was too rushed, so I re-wrote a good portion of chapter one and also finished the next chapters.

* * *

 _"I'm smart; you're dumb. I'm big; you're small. I'm right, you're wrong. And there's nothing you can do about it."_

* * *

When Anakin closed down the shop, a light drizzle had started to mist up the dark-lit streets of lower Coruscant. The fifteen-year-old pulled his black hood over his head, squinting through the fog. He kept his mind active for shadows and strangers as he walked slowly along the length of the decrepit buildings and store fronts.

Lower Coruscant was no place for a teenager, but that had never mattered much to Anakin or his "guardian."

He was three when he had left Tatooine with his new Toydarian master. Anakin had just been thankful to no longer be under Gardulla's painful custody.

Twelve years later, the exchange remained profitable for Watto. He was an excellent mechanic with a natural talent, able to fix even the most rundown water heaters and swoop bikes. In his downtime, without his master's awareness, Anakin would fiddle with his own bike for racing in the underworld pits. He hadn't ever been in a race, but one of these days he would be able to show them all how he was more than slave trash. He would be free—

Something squeaked, blubbering in an incoherent mix of Basic and alien slang, loud and clunky and _nearby_. Anakin locked his jaw at his lapse in attention, but still seamlessly, silently, attached himself along the façade of a half-collapsed shop front. He bundled himself up in the shadows and listened.

The creature was whimpering, and Anakin could barely make out words. "..kid...Si..di...orce..sensi..ve."

It - he? - was probably trying to scamper out of a gang-related offense, Anakin thought, peering through the haze to see the back of two cloaked figures and a hunched silhouette.

This part of town was rampant with gang activity since no Family owned the area; it was too close to where the police did their rounds for the clubs. Though with the way things had been going recently with a few of the Families, he could almost say with certainty that a mob war was close on the horizon. The Siths were getting more and more brazen with their moves, and it was stirring up unease throughout the underworld.

Anakin waited in silence for _something_ , breathing slowly and carefully, his fingers brushing against the hilt of the vibroblade hidden in his boot.

Suddenly the squeaks returned, loud and shrill, and they quickly morphed into high-pitched screaming. Metal was scratched and something that sounded like a stick broke in a clean _snap_! (Ah, no, it was a bone.) Anakin wrinkled his nose just as a low, gurgling laugh echoed around the metal walls from somewhere above them. High pitched laughing started up in at least two different areas around them. How many people were watching this showdown like it was some sort of sadistic theatre?

Anakin couldn't wait to leave this place. One of these days he was going to run far away. He would be a pilot, flying throughout deep space and amidst the stars like he was just another part of the inky black universe. He sighed and willed the dream away as fanciful hope.

Watto was going to be mad he wasn't back at the apartment by now. He waited longer in the dark, but there were no more sounds. Through the mist, all three figures were gone.

He resumed his pace, slow and steady and alert.

Almost an hour later, Anakin nodded to the landlord and hurried down the hallway with long strides. He tapped the pass-code into the broken screen and held his breath as the door _chi-chunked_ open.

"I'm here," he called out after the door automatically closed behind him. He opened the nearby closet and tossed his backpack inside.

Watto stuck his blue-grey face out from the kitchen, the sound of his flapping wings a loud, steady fluttering. "Peedunkee," he greeted neutrally. "You're late."

Anakin clenched his hands, his eyes skittering to the ground with practiced familiarity. "I had customers," he defended quietly.

"No excuses, boy," the Toydarian hissed, raising his hand.

Anakin swallowed the growl in his throat but didn't manage to stop himself from flinching away. Someone scoffed loudly. Anakin raised his head to see Watto's mouth curve into a sneer, and he hated himself almost as much as he hated his guardian at this moment.

Later in the night, the teenager yawned as he completed documenting the shop's finances on an old datapad. He looked up briefly when a robotic voice apologized for being in the way. Watto grunted and disappeared into his room with an angry, disinterested flap of air. Threepio wobbled back inside, done with clipping the red-stained rags on the clothesline.

"Anything else, Master Anakin?" See-Threepio asked kindly, tottering around the tiny room and picking up Master's tools. Master Anakin was much too messy.

"No thanks, Threepio," Anakin answered quietly, his voice slightly muffled by the lumpy pillow he was curled against. The cracked datapad was now lying unlit on his bed, set aside.

"Very well," the protocol droid answered, leaving Anakin alone in the darkness as he went about finishing his menial tasks.

Anakin stayed up watching him through lidded eyes, trying to sleep but also too agitated to relax. He only drifted into a restless slumber when the apartment quieted and the only sound he could hear was from the music from clubs and the sirens of police just beyond the thin walls.

…o0o…

 _Weeks later…_

Neon-blue club lights flickered on and off against the smoky background of pollution and drizzle. On the ground, rainwater filled potholes and empty beer bottles.

This wasn't his best idea, but that had never stopped him before. Anakin tugged at his hood, shadowing his face and obscuring his features even further into darkness as wind brushed against his robe. He slowly glanced around again and slipped off his bike.

He had a good feeling about his chances today. It wasn't because his day had been any luckier – Watto was still greedy and harsh, customers were still demanding and impatient – but Anakin swore something new and fresh was in the air, just waiting for him. He could _feel_ it out there. He was ready to show everyone the power he could wield.

After chaining his swoop to a post in the storage room, he headed to the lobby where a crowd was already starting to form at the kiosks. Anakin shoved past a gathering of young Twi'leks, mumbling a quick apology as he maneuvered to the front, only to stumble to a halt behind a stocky woman deliberating slowly between the previous champion or the second runner up. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited for her to finally decide on the reigning champion.

Barely waiting for her to walk away, Anakin pushed himself close to the counter and smiled at the blue sales worker.

"I'd like to bet on Anakin Skywalker," he said charmingly and slid three-hundred credits across the counter. He felt a tightening of anxiety when he let go – there went six months of his savings – but he ignored it and forced his smile brighter. The money was accepted and swapped for a paper receipt.

"Good luck," the flat voice dismissed. The person behind him walked forward and Anakin sidestepped a wayward tentacle.

He had twenty-three minutes to kill before his round started. He turned around – and bumped into a thin, Human-shaped figure cloaked in a dark robe.

"Ooof! Sorry." Anakin ducked his head with a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the base of his neck.

Yellow eyes peered at him with an unwarranted amount of hate and Anakin tensed, mental alarms suddenly screaming excessive caution into his ears. He took a step back, but luckily the figure had already turned away from him with cold disinterest. Anakin remained frozen in place. He followed the person with his eyes until the black dot was swallowed by the crowd of colorful audience members excited for the upcoming race.

That was… disconcerting.

Maybe today wouldn't be his lucky break. Anakin glanced over his shoulder at the busy kiosk with a grimace.

No. He was ready. He could – he _would_ \- win. Three-hundred credits was too much for him to waste because some wermo was angry about a bet. Anakin visibly shook himself off and resolutely made his way back to the storage room. He would do some last-minute checks on his bike and then socialize with his competition, get a feel for how risky the plays would be.

He had a race to win.

…o0o…

His swoop thrummed awake and Anakin felt more alive each passing second. The wind was cold and dangerous against his skin, combing through his wild hair and making his cloak billow around him. It was like he was flying without a bike beneath him, at one with the universe.

Two laps down.

On his left, a racer pitched to her side, and he easily leaned around her with a grin. The Rodian in the blue swoop behind him wasn't so lucky, and Anakin heard him curse loudly in slang from the slums as the bike clashed against the raised metal edge of the track. Sparks fizzled and hissed. He laughed as he sped along, the sound ringing in his ears.

This was much easier than he'd thought. He was at peace as he navigated the sharp turns of the track and the erratic moves from the other racers.

Then, as if hearing his thoughts, a humanoid racer in the dented swoop next to him curved around a corner without braking, successfully accelerating into first place. Anakin ground his teeth around a smile and followed. His bike made an ominous scratching sound as momentum swung him around the track, but it was worth it when he hovered above ground again, neck-and-neck to the first-place biker. He turned and tossed his competitor a cocky smirk before willing a burst of speed to bring him to the finish line, pushing his engine to its fullest capabilities.

Then three red buttons on his control panel blinked with alarm. Anakin paled, hissing expletives under his breath. _Kark_ , not now. Not for the final lap.. he had been _so close_. From the corner of his eye he noticed the racer jauntily wave a two-fingered salute.

Anakin tightened his grip on the steering handles and closed his eyes. He could picture the perfect maneuver that would cut off three seconds. It was a stupid, dangerous move that could easily kill him if he was even half an inch too low or too high.

As the finish line came into sight, he slanted away from the outer edge of the track and the other racer fumbled at his odd movement, jerking the bike a little higher from the ground to avoid a collision. Time slowed and the air squeezed with tense—watching—energy. With a spurt of speed, Anakin lurched his bike into a horizontal position, reached his fingers down to the floor, and touched the ground. Beneath his glove, his skin burned as he forced his swoop into a low horizontal spin that zipped below his competitor's own bike.

He righted the swoop just as his bike flew over the line.

"And the first-place winner is ANAKIN SKYWALKER," the announcer declared with vocal awe as the crowd went wild with surprise and excitement. Around him, large multi-dimensional screens replayed the tense finish and his by-mere-seconds victory.

Anakin stared at the lively grin on his recorded face; the holovideo looped again, catching his crazy spinning stunt and the quieter, harder to hear, unbridled laughter of reckless abandon. Anakin couldn't help but notice that his face looked more youthful and _happy_ in the holovideo than any other time he looked at himself in the mirror.

He collected his winnings – the reward for first place was nothing to mock, and in combination with the credits he had gained from betting on himself, Anakin was starting to think his dream to buy a ship and leave Watto behind was more than possible. With a high heart, the fifteen-year-old walked the rest of the way home with thick pockets and a gentle smile stretched across his skin.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

…o0o…

The friction-burns along the tip of his fingers made it hard to work with some of the more delicate machines, bleeding red beneath the wrappings. The near-constant pain made any rough patch-up work a sluggish process, and Watto was starting to notice the slowed completion rate.

In order to catch up with his past self, Anakin took naps throughout the night, long after Watto had returned the apartment, tinkering with all the projects he needed to finish. His master was going to be upset he hadn't returned to update him on their daily income, but Anakin knew Watto would have been madder if he hadn't finished repairing one of the older models of a battle droid. This commission was of a time sensitive nature, apparently.

Anakin dropped his head, sighing into his bandaged hands. What was he doing with his life? Was this really the best he could do? Working long shifts day and night to avoid Watto's wrath and provide illegal, over-priced weapons to less than reputable customers? Beneath his eyelids, he imagined himself at the swoop race, moving at high speeds with a broad smile on his face. Yet… he couldn't go back, at least not yet, not until his master became less suspicious.

"Roger, roger," Anakin muttered to himself.

Over the next few weeks, Watto disappeared more and more often to collect the stolen machine parts smuggled into the lower levels. Packages were starting to pile up in obvious stacks, and Anakin noticed a few raised eyebrows of the unimpressed variety. It was only after a dark-skinned man on the other side of the road pointed the pile out to his shorter companion that Watto ordered the parts to be sent to the apartment. It was Anakin's job to sign for the boxed parts when his master wasn't at the apartment.

With everything back to its normal routine, Anakin headed to the backroom during a lull in the shop. There were no customers in the front, and he was caught up on old projects.

Gathering some tools into his apron and heading over to his swoop bike, he patted his bike's peeling paint with a fond look. The metal plating in the front was starting to rust and some of the unprotected wires he had crossed on the inside would soon become dangerous if he tried any more stupid stunts at a high speed. Anakin rested his scarred hand on the machine, a soft feeling of _something_ swirling in the air, before he crouched down, immersing himself within the cool metal insides.

In what felt like minutes but was more likely a few hours, the bell from the front door jingled. Anakin rolled out from under his swoop, standing and stretching. He took a step toward the door.

"Peedunkee!" Watto flew into the room, and his expression was severe as he ran his eyes up and down the swoop bike before landing on Anakin. "What do you-a think you're doing?"

Anakin's blue eyes darted away, landing on the floor. "Uh, working on the broken swoop... for a customer!"

Watto grunted, hovering closer to the bike with narrowed eyes. He turned back to the door with a snort. "Get back to work!"

Anakin sighed with relief, not realizing a spark of suspicious recognition had lit up Watto's eyes. Gossip in the underworld stretched far, especially when it spoke of a usurper in the swoop racing competition who had insanely ousted the past champion of six years.

It was a day later when Anakin was giving a customer her upgraded roomba back that Watto stormed over, the backroom's door slamming shut behind him. The teen stretched his lips into a polite smile, counted her credits, and excused himself. She disappeared out the door with her expensive machine.

Anakin steeled himself and opened the door without hesitation. Watto's clawed hand curled around his wrists in a bruising hold, and he stumbled as he was dragged along.

"You've been racing without my permission!" Watto hissed in Huttese. He flapped his wings angrily, getting into his face. Anakin tried to pull away, fear settling like a smothering blanket of cold. "Where's the money?"

Anakin yanked his arm free and the force made him stumble against the worktable, the edge digging into his lower back. His eyes darted across the room. "What-what money? What are you talking about?"

Watto raised his hand, and Anakin locked his jaw, glaring back. Except, Watto's hand reached for the long-handled force pike on the table.

Anakin jumped when the pipe slammed against the side of the swoop with an echoing sound of bending mental and shattering transparisteel. His yell caught in his throat as Watto pulled back but never stopped—again and again and again. The thin durasteel control panel cracked into fractures webs, like small lightning strikes, crunching loudly. His knees felt weak after each blow.

The power cell broke free and crashed into the ground with dying sputters, oil leaking onto the ground like blood.

He lurched forward. "Stop! Stop it, please!" he croaked. Pieces of metal exploded dangerously across the floor in sharp little jagged pieces. " _Please_!"

Swoop racing was the only thing in his life that brought him happiness. He needed this bike to feel hope, to feel _alive_.

The rearview mirror exploded outward, and Anakin saw more than felt glass cut his out-stretched hand. Watto smirked and readied himself for the final blow. The swoop was already a mangled, irreparable mess. With tears caught on his eyelashes, Anakin glared at his master's back. Hate and anger and fear festered under his skin, popping with electricity and energy.

The burst of power sung in the air, dark and joyful.

A scream tore through the air.

Watto and Anakin turned in alarm. They rushed to the front, Anakin barely managing to skitter around loose machine parts, only to see the register in flames as high as the ceiling. His master yelled in surprise, quickly finding an extinguisher as the customer - a tan Zabrak with a startled, confused expression - backed out of the shop. Anakin gaped at the yellow-orange flames licking the air with chaotic abandon, the fiery glow casting long orange-tinted shadows.

When the fire was fully smothered, the two stared at the chalky mess before them. There was no way the credits survived the heat without melting or melding with the cheap metal of the register.

"I didn't do it!" Anakin exclaimed hurriedly with wide eyes. (Somehow, crazily, that felt like a lie.)

Watto grunted, glaring at him with disbelief. "Of course you didn't, you schutta."

As Watto tried to salvage the burnt machine to no avail, Anakin stared blankly at the scar on the table. It couldn't have been him... right?

.

 _tbc_

.

 **Author's Note** : Thanks for reading! And if it's not obvious already, this is inspired by the _Matilda_ movie because I thought it fit, though there will obviously be differences between this and the classic movie. Sorry, not sorry. :P


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

 **Warnings** : nongraphic violence and referenced abuse of a minor; mild language.

* * *

" _My idea of a perfect school is one in which there are no children… at all."_

* * *

His morning routine didn't change much since the fire. Watto had dismissed the bizarre incident as a faulty wire from a nearby droid. The only thing that _had_ changed was how many tasks Anakin was given to make up for racing without his master's permission. He was swamped with projects and commissions that normally would have been split 70-30 between him and Watto (now, it was closer to 90-10).

As he walked, Anakin thought he saw something familiar from the corner of his eye. He glanced around, squinting, but the pollution obscured the natural sunlight from the city planet, and it was too dark to see anything other than vague shapes. Anakin casually shook his boot to remind himself that his vibroblade was still there and moved along.

When he arrived, he prepared the shop as usual before Watto arrived hours later, fluttering around and poking disdainfully at some of the newer, more innovative designs he had started to create to take his mind off the swoop races he could never participate in again. He was knee deep in the guts of broken droideka when the door opened and closed with a breath of cold air.

Anakin pulled himself away from the metallic belly to see a Human man with eyes that crinkled when he smiled. And he smiled a lot—right at Anakin.

Watto hurried over and the man quirked his head at the mundane sales pitch. He nodded at the right pauses, humming in polite interest and following the Toydarian around the shop. Anakin didn't know why it felt like those pale eyes were still staring at him when it was evident that the customer was in the other room glancing at the hyperdrives with a surveying eye.

"And that is your boy?" the man asked gently, folding his clean hands in the silken sleeves of his burgundy robe. He smiled at Anakin, _again_ , who quickly busied himself with the project before him. From the other room, he heard, "He's quite the catch."

Anakin shivered and looked out the window, wondering if a breeze had picked up outside.

"Mhhm, yes, yes," Watto answered, hovering beside the upper-level man. "He's my son, Anakin Skywalker."

To Anakin, the junk dealer directed in Huttese that the teen was to be on his best behavior. This man would be an easy scam. Anakin couldn't help but disagree—not only had the steely-eyed Human not been mugged on his way down from the upper levels, but the man had purposefully sought out this shop when there were certainly other more reputable sources elsewhere.

"My name is Palpatine," the man told them, his lips still curled upwards. His eyes flashed to Anakin for a second and then rested on Watto with an odd gleam to them. "Nice to meet you."

As if an afterthought, Palpatine plucked a portable, rusting therma-slice sitting on his workbench. Though he didn't show any indication of it, Anakin got the sense the man was disgusted by the poor machine. He held it out expectantly.

"You're buying a used toaster?" Anakin asked, more confused than anything. Was this Palpatine joking? Watto flashed him a glare, but he ignored it and the phantom pain that flared for a single moment. "That's not for sale."

"I see," the man said, tone remaining collected and gentle despite the atmosphere. "Even if I'm willing to pay more than enough for it?"

Anakin stared in disbelief when the man listed the amount of Republic credits, no haggling required. It was absurd. Did Palpatine just want to save face? Was this what all rich people were like?

The exchange ended with Palpatine taking the beaten-up therma-slice in his hands and smiling a soft grin at Anakin. He disappeared out the door, and Watto wasted no time in regaling his prowess at the success of the sale, snickering to himself.

Anakin stared at the door, feeling like something had just slipped through his mental fingers like sand in a Tatooine windstorm.

Watto smacked him upside the head when he didn't return fast enough to his work, and then the two were back to their normal routine.

To both their surprise, Palpatine arrived at the same time the next day.

He smiled delicately at Anakin. Again. He bought something too, though this time it was a mouse droid that malfunctioned frequently and would sometimes adopt the habit of tearing through clothing. Anakin hadn't gotten around to fixing the software. Though the teenager was still unsure about the older man, he did pity the surprise he would feel upon realizing the droid had ripped through his expensive, silken fabrics.

Except when Palpatine showed up again the next day it wasn't to return the mouse droid or file a pointless complaint. He instead spoke to Anakin as Watto fluttered into the storage room to pick up a rarer mechanical part he had requested.

"So you're fifteen, Anakin," he said, his voice velvety and so clean, like Coruscant's upper level had just followed him down here, soapy and sparkling.

It didn't sound like a question, even though there was no possible way this strange Human could have known his exact age. Watto always told people he was older—usually eighteen—to avoid possible issues about child labor. Anakin shrugged.

"You're not in school?" he asked with a sad, pitying smile that made Anakin smother the hot thrum of rage by busying himself within a broken air-conditioning unit. He clipped a wire and let the orange sparks burn his arm. He would need to check in the back for a replacement and it would have to be the right width…

"Anakin," Palpatine said in concern, resting a hand on his shoulder.

The teen flinched and took an immediate step back. He stared at Palpatine's shocked-concerned-worried face and without excusing himself, he hurried into the backroom with barely another glance.

Unseen, Palpatine's white-blue eyes glinted dangerously.

When Watto returned, Anakin followed after him, wringing his hands and averting his eyes.

Palpatine glided over. He put a hand on the boy's elbow, tight and unrelenting despite his grandfatherly smile. Anakin's body stilled as the man moved into his personal space. He didn't even notice his hands rising up, as if to surrender - or push someone.

"Oi!" Watto finally took notice and flew over to them, glaring at Anakin.

With a scowl directed at the ground, Anakin ground out a flat, "Sorry."

Palpatine chuckled good-naturedly, finally leaning against the counter and out of the teen's bubble as he accepted the part he had asked for. "Oh, it's no bother. I'm the principal of a private school in the upper level of Coruscant, so I see such rowdy behavior frequently."

The day after that, Palpatine did not buy anything in the shop. He went up to the Toydarian owner and told him point-blank he was willing to pay for Anakin to attend his private school. He would pay for the commute and everything, all Anakin had to do was show up each weekday. And to compensate Watto for the missed labor, he would donate a _large_ amount of credits every week into the junk dealer's bank account.

When he was asked why he was doing this, Principal Palpatine answered with a dainty toss of his hands, "I aim to make the galaxy a better place."

Watto spend the next five hours laughing at the idiocy of rich idiots. Anakin couldn't help but think he would have been better off if he had just stayed as far away from Palpatine as possible.

…o0o…

The uniform he was wearing was itchy, and his wrists were already starting to redden. _Stop it_ , he told himself harshly as he walked up the marble steps. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and slumped past a group of older students. People were swarming around him, each in different sizes and shapes of the deep blue uniform, and Anakin had never felt so alone.

He had a bad feeling about this.

"Excuse me," a light voice chirped after he walked under the large, arching doorway, still trying to look as small as possible.

Anakin turned curiously and saw an angel with brown hair tucked away in an intricate Nabooian style, braided along her crown and then falling in curly ringlets down her back. Her face lit up when their eyes met, and she bounded over. Anakin instinctively startled away. She had been talking to _him_?

"Good morning," she said warmly, grinning up at him.

"Hi," he greeted back shyly, his face warming up and turning a vibrant red. He ducked his head and his wild hair shadowed his eyes.

"You're Anakin Skywalker, right? I'm Padmé Amidala, the senior class president. I'm going to be your tour guide today, just to help you familiarize yourself with the building. Is that alright?"

"Yes," he told her quickly. She tilted her head slightly at his exuberance, and Anakin chewed on his lip, looking away in embarrassment. _Stars, kill me now._

"Wonderful! This way then." Padmé beckoned him along a wide hallway, and he fell into step beside her.

The tour consisted of a short summary of where different subjects were held. The gymnasium was at the end of the hallway in the left wing. The cafeteria was in the right wing, a few minutes from the front entrance. Classes were usually held on the second floor for older students, whereas younglings stayed on the first floor. Anakin tried to memorize the format, but he knew it was futile. He got distracted far too easily, and it wasn't helping that Padmé was the picture of a goddess and just as sweet as canapé pastry.

As they walked, Anakin forced himself to stare at something that wasn't the angel next to him. He saw a few students talking to each other animatedly. Despite looking completely at ease, Anakin got the feeling they were anxious about something. He dismissed the odd thought and turned back to Padmé as she explained the importance of punctuality.

"Make sure you get to class on time," she insisted again, smiling kindly at him. Then she glanced up at one of the many chronos lined up along the white walls, her eyes widening. "I need to start preparing for a tutoring session, but if you have any questions, don't hesitate to find me!"

Then Anakin was alone in the hallway again, people hurrying by without a single look at him. Ignored. Anakin wasn't sure if he was thankful for that or not.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh, filtered air of the upperworld, Anakin started to meander around groups in order to get to an emptier hallway and have a chance to actually familiarize himself with his situation.

He almost made it to the corner when silence blanketed the entire school. Laughs cut off mid-sound and talking hushed into a cold quiet. Anakin stopped walking and then, confused, followed the other students at a more leisurely pace as they fled, rushing into open classrooms and closing the door behind them with a click. Those locked out looked on in dismay and fear, eyes darting between the crevices in the walls and the shut classroom door. Anakin frowned. _What the kriff is happening?_

The tapping sound of a pair of shoes against the polished floor was suddenly the only sound in the entire school. Anakin turned to the short Togruta youngling that was pressing herself against the lockers with wide, panicked eyes.

"What's going on?" he whispered worriedly.

Her intense blue eyes darted to him in incredulity. "Shhh," she hissed.

 _Well then_ , he huffed. Anakin frowned and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, poking his head around the corner and vaguely hearing the snippy girl's overdramatic gasp of horror.

It was only their principal—Palpatine. What was wrong with these rich kids?

Palpatine noticed Anakin before the teen could edge himself back against the wall, and he called out smoothly, "Anakin Skywalker, my boy, come over here."

Anakin forced himself not to look at his youngling companion and walked over to the school administrator with measured steps. "Good morning, sir," he greeted politely, twisting his fingers together.

"Yes, good morning, son," Palpatine said, smiling at him. He motioned for the teen to follow him, and when Anakin fell into step beside the older man, he chanced a confused look at the girl.

Only, she was gone.

In fact, most of the students in the hallway had dispersed. The suddenness of the empty hallway was beyond discomfiting.

Anakin turned his attention back to listening as Palpatine asked him of his impressions of the school. He deftly ignored the concerned ball of confusion and fear rolling around his stomach.

 _I have a bad feeling about this_ , he repeated, the feeling only more prominent now. What he said aloud was, "Very good, sir."

…o0o…

The electronic bell was only just starting to ring when Anakin flung open the door and stumbled inside the classroom. He grimaced, fumbling awkwardly with his backpack as the other students stared at him.

This was supposed to be his homeroom class, but since he hadn't elected to take any other personalized classes, he only had this one teacher who was going to teach all the introductory subjects. Why did he agree to do this waste of time, again?

"Ah, hello," a Human man with reddish-brown hair greeted with a heavy Coruscant accent. Anakin hated him immediately, feeling inadequate and filthy just standing before these rich people who likely _never_ had to do anything unpleasant in their luxurious lives.

He didn't say anything, gripping his backpack tighter to his chest.

"Anakin Skywalker, I presume?" the teacher asked, and Anakin looked up. The man's eyes were warm and compassionate.

He found himself nodding and saying quietly, "Yes, sir."

"Welcome. My name is Mr. Kenobi. Your seat is over in the third row." With that said, he turned to the digital projection on the wall and began formatting the three-dimensional design - it looked like this subject was going to be astronomy, the little white balls of fire spreading out into a recognizable constellation.

The beady eyes of the other students followed him as he walked to his chair. He plopped down in his seat, a place that was situated to the left of a Human boy with brown hair and a cold stare. To his right side, a window opened out to showcase the sunlight those living in upper Coruscant were lucky enough to receive.

As the lesson started, Anakin tried to blink back his tiredness. He wasn't used to sitting down for so long with nothing to occupy his hands with, and as Kenobi talked about the lifeless planets in the Goldilocks system, he finally let his mind wander.

It didn't bother him that he also couldn't understand half the words his teacher was using. Honestly. He was perfectly content. And at least Palpatine never required him getting good grades in this bizarre contract.

(The words from his past rang true. _Failure_ , they would whisper. _Idiot_.)

But whatever. _It didn't matter._ Who cared that the other students were raising their hands and receiving a warm smile from Mr. Kenobi when they always answered correctly. Anakin didn't mind. These rich kids were going to be surprised when the real world didn't care about migrating gas planets. This lesson wouldn't be there when their lives were threatened.

"—Mr. Skywalker?"

Anakin jumped and then cursed himself when he realized Kenobi and half his peers had seen him... _Weak_ , he sneered at himself. He glanced helplessly at the hologram of the single star system. Eight planets were smoothly orbiting a healthy, middle-sized star.

He had no idea what the question had been.

"Mr. Skywalker?" Kenobi repeated. The man folded his fingers in his beige sleeves, stance unyielding as he patiently waited for an answer.

This was like a scene on one the over-the-top holodramas Anakin guiltily loved watching when Watto wasn't home.

He could say he wasn't paying attention and deal with that fallout, with Kenobi thinking he's disrespectful and stupid, or he could make up complete poodoo and suffer through his peers and Kenobi thinking he was just another uneducated slave boy. Anakin glared, hating this school. Maybe if he stayed silent the man would get the hint and leave him alone.

The kids around him began to murmur quietly to each other.

He probably shouldn't make trouble on his first day; if this got back to Watto, nothing good would come of it. Unfortunately, his pride stilled his lips and Anakin remained silent despite the rational part of his brain slapping him upside the head with concerned urgency.

"Very well," the teacher sighed, sounding unrightfully disappointed. "Please take a step outside the room, and I will deal with you shortly."

Apparently, Anakin had crossed a line he hadn't even known existed. Why couldn't things have been simple? Kenobi could have just asked the question again or passed it off to another student. But noooo, he had to speak when spoken to. Ugh.

Anakin snagged his bag and tried to ignore the eyes following him outside. He managed to not slam the door closed on his way out.

Leaning against the wall, Anakin could barely make out Kenobi's soft voice continuing the lesson. A student answered the question—a blurring sound of words Anakin couldn't understand through the door—and the feeling of hate festered beneath his skin. He pushed himself off the wall and started to walk away. He didn't need to listen to another lecture about respecting your betters. He got that enough at home and in the shop.

Skipping the rest of his lessons was starting to seem like a better idea each second. Watto had ordered some new droid parts that were supposed to have arrived that morning, and he was excited to get his hands on the improved interfaces. And, plus, Threepio was sounding a little down for a droid, so he could spend some time giving the golden robot the oil bath he had been whining about.

His mind made up, Anakin nodded to himself and resolutely made his way down the hallway. He turned his third corner, hoping to see the tall arching doorway, but instead stumbled to a stop.

Mr. Kenobi, silhouetted by the early afternoon sun, was standing in front of the entryway with his hands on his hips. Anakin couldn't really see his face, but he knew the older man was not happy.

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Skywalker."

Karking kriff it. Anakin swallowed and clenched his jaw, his hands balled into fists by his hip. Maybe he could shove by the man?

"Shall I walk with you to the principal's office?"

"I'll find it on my own."

"Oh, no, I insist."

"Well _don't_."

Kenobi and Anakin exchanged a heated staring match. It didn't matter that the blue-green gaze was starting to darken into something Anakin's mind recognized as _danger, shut up_.

"Unfortunately, you have no say in the matter," the man finally said, about to rest what would have been a steel grip on Anakin's shoulder if the boy hadn't twisted free and pushed back. Kenobi stumbled, his back hitting the doors, and he made a small sound at the impact. His expression was astonished. Anakin froze in horror, his eyes huge and overly blue.

He had pushed back. Gods, _no_.

Kenobi was blinking in shock, his rejected hand still raised, palm open. "Anakin," he started. Anakin didn't hear the concern lacing his tone.

He didn't wait for the slap, bolting in mind-numbing terror as he turned on his heel and raced down the hallway. He heard his teacher call his name again, but ignored it in wild panic. He had to get out, out, out! He wasn't fit for this clean school, the grit underneath his nails different and weird to these people. The scars along his arm something they would frown upon. He didn't belong, and that was okay because Anakin didn't _want_ to belong to these snobby wermos.

Anakin curved around a couple groups of students leaving a classroom, only to skid to a stop when the hallway ended in a dead-end. Breathing heavily, Anakin wasted no time in turning around. He had to try the other hallway, the one on the left—maybe he was lucky and that one would lead to the front door?

"Anakin! Stop!"

The teenager stiffened, his blue eyes darting around as he hunched further into himself. Students were quickly getting out of Kenobi's way, huddling over their friends and whispering behind knuckles. It was quiet even with the murmur of gossip. Kenobi reached Anakin with a measuring, frigid look on his face, and the teenager allowed himself to be pulled along with a crushing awareness of defeat.

Kenobi hauled Anakin into his empty classroom—"the students are at lunch," the adult informed him quietly—and ordered Anakin to sit in the chair closest to them. Anakin dropped into it and scowled up at his teacher.

"Do you _want_ to go to the principal, Anakin?" Kenobi asked rhetorically with a tired, worn look that took Anakin off-guard. Anakin stared at his lap rather than see the emotions in Kenobi's eyes. The man continued hesitatingly, "It's a last resort, but if you do not tidy yourself up I will not hesitate to bring you to Principal Palpatine or Vice Principal Maul," he finished.

"No," Anakin said, softer than he intended, "I'll… tidy myself up."

Kenobi rubbed his beard, his expression unreadable once again. Then he sighed and walked over to his desk, starting to sift through the pile of holopapers that were likely old tests or essays. When Kenobi didn't look like he was going to talk to Anakin again, the fifteen-year-old started worrying the edge of his sleeves with his thin fingers. Was this it? No punishments? Where was the lecture that was originally promised when he didn't answer the question?

"Uh, sir," Anakin began hesitantly, standing up. He took a step towards the desk and then stopped. Kenobi's eyes flicked up and then went back to the students' papers. "What now?"

"Now, young Skywalker," Kenobi said, his eyes remaining on a lit-up screen, "you are to eat your lunch before your break ends."

Anakin hadn't brought any food for lunch. He couldn't afford to eat three meals a day, and they didn't have anything good in the apartment anyway. But Kenobi didn't know that, so that must have been a dismissal allowing him to leave. His lips curled into a small smile.

"I'll walk you to the cafeteria," Kenobi offered and he set aside the holopapers, looking over to Anakin with a raised eyebrow. He added after a short pause, "So you won't get lost."

Anakin's smile fell away. Glaring at the man's back, practically at the adult's height already, Anakin walked with his teacher all the way to the cafeteria.

Over the cacophony from beyond the doors, Kenobi grinned and said, "I'll see you in twenty minutes," before walking away.

Anakin frowned but turned obediently to the cafeteria doors. Even if he wasn't going to eat, maybe he could find a friendly face.

.

 _tbc_

.

 **Author's Note** : A good portion of this chapter was in the original chapter one before I revised the entire thing. Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

 **Warnings** : nongraphic violence and referenced abuse of a minor; mild language.

* * *

" _I can't abandon my children. And if I couldn't teach, I'd have nothing at all."_

* * *

He braced himself and pushed open the cafeteria doors.

The students closest to the door went silent and stared back at him with an unwarranted amount of attention. Did they know he was the new kid? Was that why they were they glaring at him like he stole the last cookie? Soon, others began noticing the wave of quiet and ceased their own conversations as they searched out the source. And then all eyes—a rainbow array of colors—landed on the awkward teen mentally debating if it was too cowardly to turn back around and just leave this stars-forsaken school behind, Watto and money be damned.

 _It doesn't matter_ , he told himself like a mantra, deciding to show no fear. He gathered the courage to walk towards the empty end of a table. _They're only teenagers and younglings. They can't actually hurt you._

"It's the _Chosen One_ ," someone sneered, and his group of friends burst into obnoxious laughs.

"Palpatine's _pet_ ," a girl spat, leaning around her friend to smile sharply at him with pointed teeth.

The words Chosen One bubbled around the entire cafeteria with mocking scorn. If Anakin wasn't more confused than he was angry he would have gone straight into a confrontation with the rich little poodoo-heads. He wasn't anyone's _pet_! He was a _person._ He didn't have to take shit from these snobs.

"Filth!" an unknown person yelled, and Anakin's fingers tightened into a ball. Whoever said that was lucky Anakin couldn't match voices to faces yet, because if there was one thing Anakin was good at, it was fighting.

"Shut up, Asajj," an overly sweet (and familiar?) voice shouted above the crowd.

"Make me, Tano," was tossed back, heavy with distaste, though it was drowned out by the immediate oooooh's from the overdramatic younglings.

Anakin still wanted to punch some faces. But then he saw Padmé weaving around tables with smooth precision, her face morphing into an urgent expression of concern when her beautiful brown eyes landed on him.

"Anakin!" Padmé exclaimed, and he thought he could detect happiness and worry in her tone. She was soon at his side, tugging him around and speed-walking out of the cafeteria with a light touch on his wrist. "We need to talk," she said as the doors swung shut, muting the drama inside. It was probably for the best that he had left then, anyway.

"What is it, Padmé?" Anakin asked, and his voice was rougher than he'd hoped. He coughed into his elbow and turned his eyes to the cafeteria so he wouldn't have to see her pity. "Where did 'Chosen One' come from? What's going on?"

She sighed, and Anakin found himself drawn back to her anyway. Padmé—beautiful Padmé with her pretty eyes and pretty smile and pretty words—rubbed her forehead with clear dismay, and it was her turn to avert her eyes. "I should have told you earlier, Anakin. I just thought that… I don't know, that you wouldn't see him on your first day."

Anakin stared. See _who_?

"Palpatine, our principal," she said, reading his face, the contempt thick in her words. "Not that vice principal Maul is much better, either," she added under breath.

"What? _Palpatine_?" Anakin barked out an unamused laugh. Was Padmé in on the joke too? Was she with _them_?

Her eyes flashed, and Anakin shut his mouth. She glared at the ceiling and then looked him directly in the eye with genuine anger, anger that guarded a dragon of fear of something bigger than her and him. "Palpatine," she spat, her voice hushed in the quiet hallway, "is a menace." She reached out to touch Anakin's hands and he let her. Her voice softened. "Anakin, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him earlier, but you need to know this."

"Okay, okay," he allowed, glancing around, already having attuned himself to the natural sounds of his surroundings. He would know if someone new walked by. "Tell me."

Padmé slumped and then immediately straightened up again, but her regal mask had cracked enough to show her relief at his acceptance. "Palpatine makes monthly visits to every classroom in order to show teachers a thing or two about how to handle students. He takes over control from teachers and has free reign to do _anything_."

"Anything?" Anakin asked skeptically, catching the dark way she spoke the word. Was this the same grandfatherly man they were talking about or was there another Palpatine he hadn't met yet? Yes, the man had seemed… off, or something else kinda weird, but could he honestly be as bad as Padmé was insinuating?

"Anything," she repeated, and her eyes met his defiantly before she continued, "A few months ago he threw Zett Jukassa, a youngling the age of nine, out of a window because he was talking during class."

What the kark. Out a window? How did he—? Was the kid—? Anakin swallowed and rubbed his fingers together, suddenly feeling the need to get far away from Padmé and her words. But her hands were warm against his skin and the hope and concern on her face was sincere. Damn it.

"He lived, don't worry, it was 'only' broken bones," she reassured, watching him carefully. She apparently found what she was looking for because she smiled, and if it was strained, he didn't mention it. He smiled back. "But Anakin, I'm serious. Don't… don't get close to Palpatine. He's dangerous." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip at whatever she read on his face.

He looked away. "That's where the Chosen One nickname is from, isn't it? 'Chosen' because of Palpatine, since we talked together this morning."

"Yeah."

Great. Just, great.

Why did Palpatine pick _him_ to cherish, he was just a slave boy from the underworld. Nothing was making any sense.

Padmé rubbed her eyes, smearing some of her makeup onto her fingers. She looked very old all of a sudden, and the expression was eerily similar to Kenobi's worn state earlier. "We've tried telling our parents about him, but they either don't believe us or think it's 'character building.' I mean, would your parents believe you if you said the principal tossed a child out the window?"

Anakin thought of Watto and shook his head slowly. His master wouldn't care, even if he thought it was true.

"Just... be very careful, okay?"

"I promise, Padmé."

Anakin hoped he would be able to keep that promise. Yet something inside him felt like he was both lying and telling the truth at the same time.

He walked back to Kenobi's classroom with _Chosen One_ rattling around his head in a disturbing echo.

…o0o…

 _Meanwhile..._

Obi-Wan locked his classroom door after he had dropped off Anakin Skywalker at the cafeteria. He shook his head, an amused smile playing at his lips. That boy was going to be a troublemaker, he could already tell. The child was brash and had no regard for rules or authority. Yet, Obi-Wan felt like there was potential there, just below the surface, shimmering with the brilliance of twin suns. And as a teacher, it was his job to bring the boy to the light.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kenobi," Count Dooku said, barely bothering to turn his head from the holobroadcast when the shorter man walked into the lounge. Obi-Wan craned his neck to see two talking-heads, and the headline mentioned something about the Senate. He shook his head with a chuckle. Everyone knew the Count hated teaching government and with it, the disdainfully convoluted politics of the Republic.

"Best get used to it, Count," he said lightly, heading towards the fridge. Obi-Wan could practically feel the older man roll his eyes. He covered his smile with his palm, rubbing at his beard as he looked for his yogurt.

"Have you heard the news about the Siths expanding their territory?" Dooku asked quietly. He didn't wait for an answer, "If the government would only vote on matters of actual _importance_ , we might not be having the beginnings of a local mob war on our hands."

"Hmmm," Obi-Wan said. He pulled out a half-eaten tub of vanilla yogurt from three days ago. It would have to do. "Yes, that is unsettling news."

The Count finally turned to Obi-Wan with a deep frown, but whatever it was he was going to say was cut off as the vice principal stormed into the teacher's lounge, slamming the door behind him and stomping past the two teachers.

"Good afternoon to you too, Maul," Obi-Wan greeted dryly, eyeing the murderous red-and-black Zabrak with a curious look. "What did one of the kids do now?"

"Shut up, Kenobi," Maul growled, and his molten-yellow eyes flashed. They watched him angrily fill a cup with some sort of blue stuff they were fairly certain was alcoholic.

Obi-Wan shrugged and went back to his yogurt. He turned to Dooku, who was glancing between the two of them, and divulged cheerfully, "I got a new student today: Anakin Skywalker."

There was a sound of glass cracking, and Maul yelled something indecipherable at the wall. The questionable blue stuff was now spilling onto the ground in chunky blobs, mixing with the broken glass on the floor. Then, before Obi-Wan could even get up, Maul abruptly reached his arm back and threw the remainder of the cup at the ceiling a little ways past their heads. Shards exploded outward in tiny, dangerous sparkles.

Obi-Wan and Dooku jumped and then shared a slow look.

"Well this is new," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, everyone heard him. Dooku raised both his eyebrows and had the most unimpressed expression possible on his face. Maul looked like he wanted to kill him very slowly, probably starting with dismemberment.

"Is this because of… Skywalker?" Dooku guessed, and Obi-Wan tossed him a grateful nod. Best to let the Count be the one to distract the VP so he could clean up the sharp edges. Stars know Maul wouldn't care, and it wouldn't do to have any of the other teachers prick themselves on the broken pieces.

As he picked delicately at the larger, solid chunks, Maul hissed, "Anakin Skywalker is filthy, greedy little bitch who doesn't deserve—"

"Doesn't deserve what, Vice Principal Maul?"

The Zabrak growled low in his throat and raged out of the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Palpatine opened it again and watched the other man until he had disappeared around the corner. Satisfied, he turned to Obi-Wan and Dooku with a shallow smile. "What a ruckus today, hm?"

"When did Maul meet Mr. Skywalker, sir?" Obi-Wan asked carefully into the new silence, keeping his eyes on the principal as he deposited the glass shards into the trash.

Palpatine didn't seem all too concerned. "I'm not sure, my dear. Perhaps he ran into him when the boy tried to leave this morning."

It wasn't a subtle dig. Obi-Wan smiled thinly. "And he managed to create such a horrible impression in only a few minutes?"

Palpatine folded his hands in his robe and said, "I should be the one asking you that, Mr. Kenobi. It was your class, and by consequence, _you_ that young Anakin was running from just earlier today."

Obi-Wan laughed and Palpatine grinned a toothless smile. Dooku turned up the volume on the holovid.

"I think young Skywalker has a bright future," Palpatine finally said. Obi-Wan rested the broom handle against the wall and leaned back attentively. "We will be watching his career with a great interest."

"Perhaps," was all Obi-Wan said.

…o0o…

The commute back to lower Coruscant was long and tiring. Anakin yawned and then berated himself. He had to stay alert or who knows what could happen. He got off the train and paced along the neon-colored pathway, hearing music from a seedy club three blocks away and the sounds of old engines and drunk people.

He stopped at the corner to catch his breath. Anakin felt like melting into a puddle, right then and there. Two hours of sleep was not enough fuel to deal with the drama of school and then having to go to the shop. Rubbing his eyes, Anakin forced himself into a state of attention and managed to make it to the apartment without getting any unwanted attention.

Anakin crossed the street, passing a dark-skinned man and his shorter companion in a hooded robe selling death sticks. A package was lying against the side of the building with a label for WATTO. He leaned down to pick it up and walked into the building without looking back.

The apartment was quiet except for the low-volume sound of the newscasters talking with each other. That meant Watto was likely at the shop. Anakin tossed his backpack onto his bed and made his way over to the fridge. He found an almost-rotten-but-not- _yet_ sandwich and waved away Threepio (who was wobbling around him with motherly anxiety at the bags under his eyes and the almost-green food he had just taken a bite out of).

In the living room, the junk radio was playing old news recordings from six years ago. Threepio liked to have sound in the apartment when no one was home—which didn't surprise him all that much. The droid liked talking to people, even if they weren't actually present. Anakin chewed and swallowed, listening with half an ear as he finished off his food.

Right now it was a report on the murder of police officer Qui-Gon Jinn. Anakin couldn't help but wonder if the case was closed by now, since it had been six years and he couldn't remember hearing anything about a new suspect in more current holopapers.

"I'll probably close up the shop today," he told the droid as he left to gather some of the tools on his dresser, trying to visualize the mechanical procedures he would need to do. "I'll be back around midnight. Could you do the laundry?"

"Of course," the artificial being replied, somehow sounding insulted that Anakin even needed to ask.

Before Anakin disappeared out the front door, the protocol droid said, "Be safe, Master Ani."

The door suctioned closed, and Anakin allowed himself ten seconds of surprise. Threepio was adapting to sentient emotions at a ridiculously fast rate. Warm pride seeped into his bones at the surprising well-wishing. So there was at least _one_ good thing that happened during this much too long day.

…o0o…

 _A few weeks later…_

"Mr. Skywalker, please wait after class."

Oh no. Was this about the surprise quiz today? Anakin chewed on the inside of his cheek and walked around the desks. He played with the fraying sleeve of his uniform as Mr. Kenobi flipped through a pile of holopapers. Anakin knew he wasn't the smartest person here, not by a long shot, but math had always come easy to him. He had gotten more than enough practice with the economics of the shop, and he needed to know physics (and, with it, math) to be a good pilot. But he had only gotten three hours of sleep this morning and his review of the material had been shallow at best. In the back of his mind, Anakin didn't know when he had grown to care so much about his performance in school.

"Ah, here it is," Kenobi said merrily and brandished the digital paper, setting it in front of Anakin. "Take a seat."

Anakin turned to drag a chair over and took the brief time his back was turned to brace himself for whatever Kenobi was going to say. He could take it. He sat down, wringing his hands in his lap, and stared at the edge of the table.

"I would like to discuss your answer to question number three from the homework assignment." Anakin peered at Kenobi's face suspiciously, unsure of the older man's play. If they weren't going to talk about the pre-calculus test, was he going to be criticized for his answer on the assignment instead? Kenobi tapped the page and clarified, "You wrote that the man who robbed the shop owner was justified."

"Yes," Anakin answered slowly, and after he re-read his first sentence, he blanched. Stars, how had he thought that wouldn't raise flags? The question had been a standard example of the justice system, asking him to list the defendant's rights during the criminal proceedings. On the paper, Anakin had only briefly talked about the man's right to not self-incriminate himself and instead three of the four paragraphs went into a rant about how the thief actually had the moral high ground.

"Why do you say that?" Kenobi asked. Anakin searched his teacher's face, but the man was a blank mask, showing absolutely no emotions, either good or bad.

Anakin curled into himself a little and answered in a small voice, "Well, the shop owner refused to sell the drug that would save his wife's life, even though the man—Jett, I think—offered to pay half of the price upfront and reimburse the owner the rest of the money afterwards."

Kenobi hummed and rubbed his beard, showing no readable reply. Anakin swallowed and continued, "So since the price was unfair to begin with and his wife's life is more important than anything else, he broke into the shop with the knowledge that he was saving a life. And, well, I think a life is worth more than six-thousand credits. He probably thought it was worth it too."

"It may be worth it, Anakin, but how does that give Jett the moral high ground?" Kenobi leaned back with an air of curiosity, and Anakin didn't notice himself leaning forward.

"Well," he drew out, "the law says you're not allowed to take what isn't yours, right? Because that's stealing and it's wrong. But refusing to follow an unjust law – at least for this instance – in order to save a life is what's actually important here. Blind obedience to rules in every kind of situation isn't good since life is full of exceptions."

Kenobi shook his head, but there was finally a faint smile playing at his lips. "Yet what of the shop owner's independence and freedom to decide on his own prices? On his right to own the drug and not sell it for a lower price?"

"He has that right," Anakin allowed after a moment's thought, staring at the ceiling considerately, "but Jett also has the right to try and save his wife's life no matter what. The owner's brief loss of independence doesn't match with the cost of Jett losing his wife to a curable disease."

"And what if Jett had killed the shop owner instead of only robbing him?"

Anakin turned to Kenobi so quickly the chair moved with him, squeaking on its legs. Yes, it would be worth it, he thought, but Anakin knew he couldn't say that out loud. "I don't know," he lied.

Kenobi stared at him, watching. "And if the owner had a kid of his own? A wife?"

It wouldn't change anything, he thought, but Anakin started to feel uncomfortable with the direction this was headed, his stomach flipping. Would it change anything? A life for a life was more consequential than a few credits for a life. Fingers twitching, Anakin pushed back his chair and stood up, looking down at Kenobi, needing to _get away_. "Are we done here? Can I go?"

"One moment, Anakin." Kenobi gathered the homework assignment and added another holopaper to the stack, each with a bright red 100 on the top. "Good job on the math test," he praised, adding with a wry look, "though the way you came to your answers is highly unconventional."

Anakin looked away, telling himself the squeezing, hurt feeling in his stomach was leftover from the stupid philosophical interrogation.

"That creativity is an asset, I assure you, young one," Kenobi said mildly. Anakin's mouth curved into a little smile without his permission. He hugged the holopapers to his chest and looked at his scuffed boots, hoping to the gods that his face wasn't pink.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." Kenobi turned to the door and then back to Anakin as he stood up so they were near eye-level. The older man's expression was warm, blue-green eyes compassionate. "I also think it would be a good idea if you had daily tutoring sessions to ensure you're fully caught up with the rest of the class. Your calculus skills are advanced for your age, certainly, but your understanding of major historical events seems to be lacking, among other subjects." Anakin nodded and only just heard Kenobi say, "Brilliant, we'll meet during lunch starting next week."

"Sure, whatever," Anakin said absently, gathering his stuff and stuffing the uniform's jacket into his bag as he walked out the door with a brief wave for his teacher. His work shift was going to start in an hour, and it took a good fifty minutes to get to the shop.

As long as his participation in this fancy school continued, he might as well take advantage of material he might need later in life. When he becomes a starpilot, it would be good to know about the economic and political situations across the Republic and Outer Rim.

Wearing his black robe, a patch-work of differently textured materials, Anakin traveled along the back roads to get to the train leading into the underworld. It wouldn't help his already-trashed reputation any good if the other students, or Stars-forbid teachers, saw him heading down to the lower level.

.

 _tbc_

.

 **Author's Note** : Whoo, more platonic Ani/Obi interaction! I love those two dorks. And I dunno why, but the thing I most enjoyed about this chapter was Obi-Wan eating (or at least _trying_ to eat) yogurt. Also, another disclaimer: the question Anakin and Obi-Wan were talking about with the shop owner and the robber was based on Kohlberg's moral development theory and I pulled the hypothetical situation from him.

And since we're caught up with the chapter's pre-edited material, I should hopefully be able to post the next chapter sometime next week! :) Let's hope I can keep my writing streak going and finish this story by the end of the month.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

 **Warnings** : nongraphic violence and referenced abuse of a minor; mild language.

* * *

" _What she needed was just one person, one wise and sympathetic grown-up who could help her."_

* * *

Luckily for both Anakin and Mr. Kenobi, the lunch sessions started on a successful note. On their first day, Anakin lapped up the new material with an eagerness that took his teacher by surprise, and in the first ten minutes of the break, he could already recite back a few major events of the past decade with only the occasional mistake.

"And what year signified the end of the Slave Uprising III on Tatooine?" Kenobi shuffled some old test questions on his table, and then bent down to look for something in the lowest drawer.

Anakin answered readily, but he cocked his head when something metallic was shoved against the wood with a clunky rolling sound. Oddly, Kenobi's eyes flicked up to meet his, assessing, before he ducked down again and asked him to clarify further.

While Anakin couldn't remember anything of his birthplace, slavery would always be something that would get his attention, and this rebellion in the Outer Rim was already considered by modern historians to be one of the last few pushbacks against the injustice of slavery: the consensus overall was that the unfair system was on the outs and was no longer prospering at the huge numbers it had before. Anakin wished they were right, but while the systematic nature of slavery was slowly dying out, slavery obviously still existed. Prime example number one: Anakin Skywalker.

He didn't say any of that, though, only outlining a summary from what he could remember from the news a while back. Threepio's radio was good for something, at least.

"Very good," Kenobi complimented, the sound muffled slightly, and then he raised his head with satisfied expression. He stacked a pile of holotests on his table along with a bulky lunch bag. "I think we can take a break from current events. What do you think?" It seemed like he actually wanted to hear Anakin's opinion on the matter, and that little consideration felt like the nicest thing anyone (excluding his droid) had done for him in a while.

Anakin shrugged, his eyes falling on the bowl of juna berries his teacher was pulling out of a small plastic bag. "Uh, sure, we can start with whatever other subject you think I need help with," he finally said, forcing himself to stare out the window so he wouldn't have to watch the older man eat.

"Anakin?"

The teen's eyes slid to the edge of the table, and he kept his gaze downward. "Yes, sir?"

There was a silence, but it wasn't full of anger or demands, it didn't stifle the air around them. Another beat of calm quiet. Anakin slowly raised his head to see Kenobi patiently holding out a small cup filled with the sweet fruit. They looked delicious, round and plump, and he immediately wanted to reach out.

"I'm not a charity case," he said instead and folded his hands in his lap so he wouldn't be tempted.

Kenobi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his beard. "Consider it compensation for these long tutoring sessions."

Anakin furrowed his brows. It should be the other way around; Kenobi was the one going out of his way to make sure Anakin was caught up on the material. "I dunno," he mumbled, chewing on the inside of his cheek. But the berries were starting to look more and more appealing the longer Anakin tried to not look at them. Kenobi probably thought he'd forgotten his lunch or something, so maybe accepting the food would be okay if it was only a one-time thing.

"Okay," he decided resolutely. Anakin reached out and took the cup. He dropped a handful into his mouth, tasting a sugariness he rarely indulged in. "Thanks, Mr. Kenobi."

"My father loved juna berries," Kenobi revealed. Anakin chewed, relishing the brilliant taste, watching his teacher curiously. "We went to Gala for vacation one time when I was teenager, and it was the first time either of us had tasted such a sweet flavor."

"That's nice," Anakin said sincerely, and it wasn't until hours later when he was on the train that he realized he had honestly enjoyed listening to the man divulge the secrets of his everyday life.

"Shall we get back to it?" Kenobi wondered once the teenager polished off the pile of food. The red-haired man sounded like he would accept a 'no' just as much as he would a 'yes' answer, but Anakin was ready for more.

"I'm ready when you are."

When the lunch break ended and the other students filtered back into the room, Kenobi greeting them at the door, Anakin tucked his extra homework into his backpack before any of his peers could see. They looked at him warily as they ambled into the classroom, skirting around desks so they wouldn't walk directly past him. Someone mouthed "Chosen One" with a sneer.

Whatever. Friends were overrated anyway, and he wouldn't want to be friends with these snobs anyway.

Anakin sighed as he pulled out his cracked datapad, getting settled at his seat. When he looked up, his eyes met his teacher's, and Mr. Kenobi's face softened with something warmer than perfunctory friendliness. He smiled down at his desk.

…o0o…

When Anakin walked from the train station to the apartment, he felt like someone was following him. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling – he had gotten his share of muggings when he was younger and less street smart – but this was different: it was dark, malicious, and _dangerous._ Anakin didn't bother masking his movements, forcing his vibroblade out of his shoe in an obvious move so that he could grip the handle and at least be somewhat prepared for whatever was out there. It wasn't the first time he wished he had a blaster.

He had two options: lose his stalker or confront them and manage to survive.

Anakin walked leisurely down the road, nearing his apartment complex, passing two familiar death stick dealers. He eyed them, already on high alert, and they stared back at him from beneath dark-brown hooded robes.

"That stuff's bad for you," he told them, slowing to a stop. He peaked a look over his shoulder, making it seem like it was for their benefit. No one was behind him.

"Your business, that is not," the tiny one croaked weirdly. Anakin rolled his eyes. That one's brain was already fried beyond repair.

The taller one snorted, and Anakin squinted at him. A dark-skinned Human. Something in Anakin's memory hummed, asking for his attention, but he couldn't recall where he'd first seen the man.

"Well, sell your business somewhere else," he finally said, glancing around.

"You should get to work, kid," the Human said, and Anakin raised an eyebrow at the tone. It wasn't concerned, but there was a hint of something else below the surface. What death stick dealer was somewhat nice to a money-less teenager interfering with his sells?

Anakin shrugged noncommittally. They weren't his problem. But still… "You might want to get off the streets. I think something's going to go down soon, y'know?"

"The Siths?" the larger one demanded with a no-nonsense glare, abruptly giving Anakin his full attention.

He shrugged again, having no idea. Maybe his stalker was from a Family, as weird as that would be considering Anakin was just a nobody slave-boy, but what was more important than that was that whoever wanted him dead was a threat for anyone on the streets, involved with him or not. Anakin got the feeling that his stalker wouldn't care about killing innocent people to make a point or to get closer to him.

"What's going to happen?" the man requested again, grappling for his shoulders. He looked seconds away from shaking him. Anakin grit his teeth and pulled his vibroblade into view. The short addict made a peculiar "hmmm" sound they both ignored.

"Let.. go.. of.. me," Anakin ordered lowly, his eyes almost gold-like in the dark lighting of the underworld.

The man released him but didn't step away. "What's going on?"

Anakin angled away, leaning on the balls of his feet, chancing another look behind him. Nothing was there, but Anakin felt in his bones that there had just been a dark figure standing by a closed-down shop a block away, watching the three of them.

"Just go home," he said and walked over to his apartment complex, picking up three hand-sized packages and stuffing them into his backpack. He turned around to see if the two were going to follow his advice. They were gone. Good. Anakin chewed on his bottom lip as he surveyed the empty street.

It would be a monumentally stupid idea to go inside the complex. There was only one way out of the building, and Anakin didn't want to lead his stalker right to his exact doorstep or endanger his neighbors. It was also stupid idea to go to the shop. Even if his shadow already knew where he worked, the junk shop not only had only two exits but there were also crowds of civilians that could get in the way.

Anakin shrugged his backpack further onto his shoulder. He needed to get to a place he knew better than anywhere.

The swoop track.

He may have only raced once, but the track had been like a second home to him before his bike had been broken. He was well acquainted with the area's layout and the kind of people that frequented the races. It was his safest bet.

As he carefully moved along, there were still no sounds or sights out of the ordinary. No extra footfalls along the wet pavement. No dark shapes. Anakin edged his way a few blocks further to where the street opened up into a crossroad of alleyways, and he hesitated at the entrance. There were high walls with minimal comfort room; it would be a tight fit for two people walking side-by-side. The alleyway was the worst part of this route since he would be an easy target, but it was also a necessary evil to get to the swoop racing track.

And maybe he was wrong. To be fair, Anakin hadn't actually _seen_ anyone following him, so it could just be paranoia.

He took a few steps forward before something in his ear shrieked in a nerve-shattering panic, loud and deafening and _horrible_. Anakin startled, tripping over his own feet, and his head slammed against dirt and broken glass with an audible smack. He scrambled upright, barely understanding the red light that fizzled in the air like an afterimage where he had been standing moments ago, barely feeling the blood on his palms. His head was still screaming at him incoherently and it was hard to get any kind of thoughts in order.

A flaming-red sword shimmered alive in the dark with a _snap-hiss_ , thrumming with a heavy nonexistent heat. Anakin braced himself along the wall, blinking away the spots in his vision. His backpack had skittered all the way to the entrance of the alleyway, long forgotten.

"Anakin Skywalker," the thing hissed hatefully, spearing him with cold, glowing eyes.

In the back of his mind, Anakin knew there was no possible way he had done anything bad enough to get himself on a personalized hit list. But right now, all that mattered was survival.

"… _You_ ," Anakin hissed back vaguely, and he tried his most angry scowl. The assassin's eyes narrowed, becoming thin slits of molten yellow. The illuminated blade was pointed at the teen threateningly. Anakin could practically feel the immense reserves of power radiating from the dark figure.

He dutifully raised his own small vibroblade intimidatingly. The comparison was almost humorous. As things were looking, it appeared that running would be pointless; he had to fight. Anakin leaned on the balls of his feet, preparing to move.

"Brave," the thing approved, seeing that he wasn't trying to escape, as futile as that would be, "but stupid. Today you die, filth."

"No," Anakin said, and it was more because he refused to die yet - not before he could say goodbye to Threepio or Kenobi or Padmé - than any kind of trust in his combat skills. His scarred fingers, still wet with blood, curled tightly around his blade.

The red glow of the laser sword looked like an omen of death.

" _DROP_!"

" _GET DOWN_!" a strong voice shouted in tandem with the first command, barely giving Anakin the time to follow the orders. The teen fumbled to the ground in a jumbed mix of confusion and hope.

Laser bolts pelted the air in the alleyway, and the sudden attack forced the assassin to slip around the particle beams and back away from Anakin's defenseless position. Occasionally, the glowing sword deflected the energy, throwing it back at his two saviors, but it seemed they had pushed the dark figure back enough of a distance that the demon seemed to accept his losses. The red light disappeared with sizzling click and then the three were suddenly alone in the alleyway with scorched walls and smoking piles of trash.

One of the cops turned to him, the mechanical eye coverings and heavy metal armor making them seem indifferent and uncaring. Anakin had never had the bad luck to meet a hardened officer from the Underworld Police Division, but in this case, he was actually feeling _very_ lucky.

Shaking, either from leftover fear or joy at not dying or _something_ , Anakin sucked in dirty air and breathed out with artificial slowness. "Thank you," he heard himself say, " _Thank you_."

"Just… be more careful," the humanoid officer said, and his body language made it seem like he was uncomfortable with the non-fighting part of his job.

Anakin giggled hysterically, and his eyes went back to the dark alley, transfixed. In his mind's eye, he pictured the illuminated sword, remembering the melodic song of power and escape. Mesmerized by the shadows, he didn't even notice the shorter security officer disappear, leaving only the Human-shaped partner.

"Who was that?" the officer asked through a voice modulator, and he sounded robotic and harsh.

The fifteen-year-old swallowed and pulled his eyes away from his memories, deciding to rest them on the vibroblade he was still clutching to his chest like a life-line. Who was that? Who wanted him killed so badly they could afford a professional assassin with a grudge of his own? No one, Anakin wanted to say, because that was the truth, wasn't it? Apparently not.

"I don't know, officer," he said aloud, shrinking into himself, feeling cold.

Should he say more? They did just save him, but everyone in the underworld knows that you can never trust an officer of Coruscant's Security Forces to protect you. If you get yourself into trouble, you get yourself out it, one way or another. That's how it goes.

"Are you sure?" he repeated, like he didn't believe Anakin.

"Yes."

The armored officer made a displeased sound, about to push for more information, but then a message beeped urgently from his belt. The dark-tinted eye covering turned to him, and Anakin felt the glare. "Stay away from gangsters."

The officer stalked away before he could answer. Anakin never wanted to see that yellow-eyed demon ever again.

…o0o…

"So I almost died today," Anakin tried to tell Watto, but his guardian only glared at him for interrupting the call on his comlink and flew out of the room with a huff. He turned to See-Threepio. "There was an assassin with a red laser sword."

"Oh dear, oh dear," Threepio exclaimed, pacing around the room and distractedly trying to clean the mess Anakin had left on the table, mumbling about the probabilities of him dying on the streets of the underworld. They were high. Very high.

Anakin smiled over at him. He poked the rotten part of his sandwich with his fork. "But two officers saved me, even though the assassin got away."

"Thank the Maker," Threepio said in relief, as if he couldn't see that Anakin was obviously sitting at the kitchen table with only scratched palms and no other injuries. And Anakin had had _much worse_ than rough landings.

"No need to thank me," he snarked back. Anakin chuckled at his own joke and finally cut off the corner of his moldy sandwich. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He couldn't afford a sick day, but they also didn't have any other Human-approved food in the house and he was starving. Eh, hopefully it'll be fine. Anakin opened his mouth.

 _Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Anakin jumped, his heart racing, and he heard Watto curse from the other room. If that was the police officer, he was doomed. Anakin threw his sandwich on the table without a care and raced to the door. He wished they had an eyehole. Opening the door a fraction of an inch, the chained still in place, he peered through the crack.

It wasn't a police officer. It was worse.

Would Mr. Kenobi hate him if he slammed the door in his face? Probably.

How had he even known where he lived? Was his teacher stalking him?

This was bad. Really bad.

Anakin shoved the door closed and leaned back, trying to make sense of his life right now.

"Who was it, peedunkee?"

Anakin floundered, "N-Nobody. Uh, well, it was actually a death stick dealer. Yeah. Two of 'em were loitering around earlier today and saw me, so yeah, they must have thought I would buy some. I told them to leave though."

 _Knock, knock, knock, knock._

Watto glared. "Don't lie to me," he hissed, a promise in his words, and he flew around the teen to open the door wide. Anakin swallowed and looked away, trying to tell himself it wasn't bone-chilling fear he was feeling.

Mr. Kenobi stood in the hallway with a measured look on his face, reminiscent of when Anakin had first met the man.

Why was he here, anyway? Irrational panic started to claw its way even further into the teen's head, reminding him of when he had pushed his teacher into a wall on his first day of school, reminding him of his lackluster grades in nearly every subject, reminding him of his reputation as filthy slave in the lowest level of Coruscant. Was Kenobi going to hate him now? He wouldn't blame the man.

His teacher's eyes flicked over to him and then back to Watto. Anakin hoped his nerves weren't noticeable.

"My name's Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said. "I'm Anakin's teacher."

( _Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.)_

Watto grunted disinterestedly, not welcoming the man inside. "What's the brat done now?"

Obi-Wan blinked, looking stupidly startled and confused by the question. Anakin glared at him. How dare he pretend to be surprised.

"Pardon me, what did you just say?"

Watto frowned and his fingers twitched like he was debating closing the door. Anakin didn't know why that bothered him. "Did my son get in trouble?" he reworded, speaking slowly like Obi-Wan didn't understand Basic.

Anakin watched Obi-Wan's face shutter closed, and he blanched at the sudden mask. "Your son," Mr. Kenobi said flatly.

Watto didn't seem to notice. "Yes, little Ani, he's always getting into trouble and making a mess of things. Did he do something at school that I should know about?"

Pressure started to build up behind Anakin's eyes, and he rubbed them vigorously. Stop it, he told himself, you knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Except, if he was being honest with himself, he had _never_ intended for his teacher to meet his guardian or for him to even find out where Anakin lived. This was supposed to stay his dirty little secret. There was no way Mr. Kenobi was going to continue tutoring him. If even his own _father_ thought Anakin was worth less than the sand between his toes, surely Obi-Wan could be convinced as well.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, and a familiar backpack dangled in the air.

Poodoo, he had forgotten to pick up his things after his stalker had attacked him. This wasn't good.

The Toydarian turned his glare onto the teen, and Anakin shuffled back a few steps. "Oops," he said, grimacing.

"A friend of mine was in the area and he saw my name on a holopaper. He thought I would know where to find a Skywalker with a missing backpack," Kenobi explained, and his eyes moved past them to look into the apartment. "May I come in?"

Hope died on Anakin's tongue. So his teacher wasn't here to just drop off his backpack. Was he going to tell Watto about that time he pushed him? Surely Obi-Wan wouldn't hold a grudge from his first day of school?

"Fine," Watto grumbled unhappily, and he moved aside. Kenobi slipped by, and as he walked past them, their eyes met. Obi-Wan smiled as he handed the teen his backpack.

"I added a bag of juna berries for you," he whispered conspiratorially, "I hope you don't mind."

Real food. Anakin relaxed, finally calm enough to sense no real anger directed at him, and unzipped the bag to shuffle through his dirty and cracked things. Except, the three packages were missing. Anakin paled, and his head jerked up to stare at Obi-Wan. His teacher looked over at that moment, tilting his head in confusion at the teen's horror, and then recognition lit up his eyes. Kenobi shook his head slowly - later. Luckily for Anakin, his master didn't know the packages had been delivered today, but that excuse wasn't going to last forever. Sooner or later Watto would find out that his illegal parts were in the police's custody. Kriff.

Obi-Wan settled himself on the couch that had holes of stuffing poking out in tiny bursts of foam. Watto perched himself on a cushioned chair across from the Human. Anakin debated hiding in his room, but ultimately decided on hovering by the doorway, out of Watto's sight but still in hearing range.

"I'm sure you're aware Anakin has a very brilliant mind," Obi-Wan said. Anakin choked on his spit. Wait, what? Watto seemed similarly surprised, scoffing harshly in disbelief. His teacher continued undeterred, almost sounding fond, "I think your son likes to create the most convoluted and outlandish way to get to an answer just to prove that there are other ways to find a correct solution."

Watto didn't seem all that impressed. "Yeah, right," he agreed acerbically. "Brilliant isn't the word I would use."

Obi-Wan's expression turned pinched. "And what word would that be?"

Finally, Watto looked nervous. He shrugged, his bony blue shoulders rising and falling. Obi-Wan waited patiently, and Anakin smirked at being able to see his master not know the right thing to say. "Creative," the Toydarian said, but everyone heard the sarcasm.

Obi-Wan let it go with an indulging smile. "Yes, I'd use that word too."

Anakin laughed under his breath. Obi-Wan glanced at the doorway and stood up, making it seem like he was ready to leave. The teen caught his teacher's mischievous smile. Obi-Wan thanked Watto for his hospitality, assuring him he would walk himself out. The Toydarian seemed happy to no longer be in the man's company.

Obi-Wan made his way over to Anakin, and they shared smiles at the entryway. But then Obi-Wan's expression tightened, and he said lowly, "I heard about your stalker. Be careful, okay? I'll see you in class tomorrow."

It seemed like everyone wanted him to be careful lately. Anakin could only nod. He would try.

The closed suctioned closed behind the older man. Anakin couldn't help but think that life was much simpler when he didn't attend high school.

.

 _tbc_

.

 **Author's Note** : Is this too crazy (or boring) with my multiple-ish plots and semi-obvious hints? Eh, I'm sure y'all can handle it.

As of now, I have about a third done with chapter 5, so hopefully in a week or two I'll be able to post the next chapter. Thanks for reading, I hope y'all enjoy your weekend! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

 **Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait for this chapter! Life got ahead of me, and then I came down with the flu because why not. But enough excuses, I hope you enjoy this chapter, I struggled through writer's block to get this to y'all!

 **Warnings** : nongraphic violence and referenced abuse of a minor; mild language.

* * *

" _I cannot for the life of me understand why small children take so long to grow up. I think they do it deliberately, just to annoy me."_

* * *

Anakin bounded up the marble stairway two steps at a time, early to school for the first time since the day he had enrolled. Having edible food in his stomach had helped him concentrate better, and he had gotten at least four hours of sleep that night. Part of that was also because Threepio had started to complete more of Anakin's own chores without him even needing to ask: the apartment was cleaned, dishes washed, and clothes lined up on the wire. He still had to do his homework and the shop's finances, but Obi-Wan's visit had righted his mood and made him (dare he say it) excited for school.

And though the memory of the assassin also remained in the back of his mind, Anakin couldn't worry too much about it. The only thing he could really do was find a way to steal a blaster and hope he had well enough of an aim when the demon returned.

When Anakin arrived at the entryway, he noticed students wandering around, talking quietly with each other, and staying near the wall. The older teenagers glanced over at him (Chosen One) when he walked by, some glaring, some more curious. Anakin ignored them. Maybe he could find Padmé and spend the time before class getting to know her better. She was nice, and it would be good to know someone his age.

Turning to the library—guessing that was where she'd be since she tutored students in the morning—he opened the doors and stepped inside. As the door shut behind him, silence suddenly smothered the hallway and even the people in the library hushed, exchanging petrified looks. From where he was standing, he could see at least three younglings gather up their datapads and backpacks, rushing into book isles with fully stocked shelves and disappearing from view.

The tapping of shoes reverberated down a parallel hallway. Anakin peeked through the window on the door, seeing no one. The sounds stopped.

Against Anakin's better judgement (and the other students' judgement too, considering their shocked faces), he opened and closed the door in one fast, smooth motion. A young Mirialan peeked out from behind the transparent screen with wide blue eyes. "Come back inside," she mouthed, looking fearfully over his shoulder.

Anakin shook his head, sending her a confidant smile. She didn't look comforted in the slightest.

That done, he turned on his heel and quieted his steps with practiced familiarity. His vibroblade rubbed against his shin, still hidden in a boot. Was it crazy of him to actually think he would need to use the weapon at this rich, upper-level private school?

When he neared the end of the hallway, he heard an accented voice say spitefully, "Absolutely filthy."

Anakin pushed himself against the lockers, crouching down and peeking around the corner. The principal, his back facing his Chosen One, continued to berate the snippy youngling the teen had met on his first day (something about the way the way her uniform was riding up and exposing her skin). The poor nine-year-old Togruta had tears in her eyes, her body trembling as she tried to muffle the sound of her sniffles. She still glared at Palpatine with a bravery Anakin hadn't expected, though.

With frosty cruelty, the principal hissed with utmost detest, "Stupid, disgusting child."

Anakin got a vividly-rich image of Gardulla and Watto flash through his mind's eye.

He slipped out from behind the corner, standing at the end of the hallway with his feet apart and a stony look on his face. He was older and stronger now, the _Chosen One_.

Snips's eyes darted to his, and the white markings above her eyes shot up in disbelief. Palpatine finished what he was saying, apparently not seeing her wide eyes flicking to the corner at the end of the hall and then back to him with increasing concern. Get out of my sight, she was trying to say wordlessly.

Anakin shook his head and offered her a thumbs-up. Just like the Mirialan, she looked less than comforted. In fact, her face was turning stormy as she glared at him. You stupid laser-brain, he translated.

Palpatine's words slowed significantly by the end of his new rant. He must have noticed her glare. Anakin braced himself.

"I'm sorry!" Snips burst out, crying anew with extra loud vigor. "I'm sooooorrry!" She sobbed pathetically, rubbing her eyes with the sleeves of her uniform. She fell to her knees dramatically, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

Reeled in by her suffering, Palpatine seemed to be once again gleefully occupied with making her feel her worst. Anakin clenched his jaw at the two-faced nature of the principal. The man was overly kind to him, offering him free schooling, and for what? Why was Anakin Skywalker the principal's Chosen One? Honest to Stars, he was a dirty slave from the slums, nothing more.

He hated liars with their mask of gentle understanding. He hated how nothing was making any sense. He hated how every time he looked at Palpatine, he was reminded of where he came from (nothing, he came from nothing). He _hated_ him.

The lights in the hallway flickered erratically. Snips stopped crying, and in the dark, she looked around Palpatine's silk robes to see if he was still there (he was), and he could see her glare more forcefully at him when the lights stabilized with a little popping sound.

Maybe the universe was telling him to get some answers and the lights were his cue to make his move.

"Principal Palpatine," Anakin interrupted cheerfully, sauntering over with a wide, toothy grin and sharp sky-blue eyes. He didn't see Snips' face, but he was certain she was scowling rudely at him.

The man stiffened, but by the time he turned to face Anakin with a fake smile, he was once again relaxed and at ease. It was too slow for Anakin not to notice. "Ah," the older man said, his voice suddenly warm and inviting, "good morning, young Skywalker."

"It is, isn't it?" Anakin asked with a pointed look.

Palpatine narrowed his eyes, but he didn't raise his voice when he said sweetly, "I would like to think so, my dear."

Anakin stepped beside Snips, and she ducked behind him, peering around his legs.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, and there was a stale pause as they stood there, not saying anything. His awkwardness was starting to come out despite himself. Anakin didn't like making small talk, he knew he was exceptionally bad at it. (In fact, one time he told a pretty girl she looked really good in the dark. She had walked away without saying a word.) Gathering himself, he spoke quietly but quickly, "Sooo, we'll just be going now, sir. I just wanted to say hello."

Palpatine opened his mouth, probably to smother Anakin in an extra dish of butter, but the lanky teen had already moved to scoop up the youngling (who squealed in unhappy surprise). Without a backwards glance, he turned around and walked at a normal pace down the hallway, feeling pale-blue eyes track him the entire length. Once they turned the corner, he sped up into a light jog until they were at the library. Snips crawled out of his arms when they arrived, and she 'accidently' stomped on his feet when she was safely on the ground.

As he rubbed his foot with a pouty look at her, Snips turned to him searchingly. After a deliberating moment, she nodded to herself. She knocked twice on the library door, and then tapped five times with her pointer finger.

To his surprise, the door opened and a pair of hands reached out to tug the two of them inside. Then the door shut behind them, locking with a clear _click_.

"Barriss!" Snips yelled and glomped the Mirialan in a big hug the dark-haired girl didn't seem prepared for. "You're okay!" She released the youngling and then turned to glare at Anakin standing inelegantly by the doorway. "Why didn't you stop this idiot?"

"Hey!" Anakin defended. They ignored him.

"He was too fast," Barriss explained softly, "and he really wanted to leave." But she still threw him a genuinely apologetic look at her failure to keep him confined in the library. Anakin felt the anger drain out of him, and he smiled to let her know there were no bad feelings.

Snips rolled her eyes. "Yah, well, he's still an idiot. But thanks for your attempted rescue… Skyguy."

 _Skyguy_? Anakin stomped over to them. "Listen here, Snips–"

"– _Snips_?" she gasped in horror.

Barriss had been glancing between them anxiously, but at hearing her friend's nickname, she couldn't stop herself from grinning. "It's the perfect nickname for you, Ahsoka!" she told her brightly, giggling.

" _You_ ," Ahsoka started to say but then she cut herself off. "Okay, fine. I'll be Snips if you'll be Skyguy."

He didn't even have to think about it. "Deal."

Anakin reached over and shook her small hand. They gave it a firm pump.

"Ahsoka Tano," little Snips told him.

"Anakin Skywalker."

"Barriss Offee," the other youngling added.

They smiled at each other.

"And I'm the librarian. Class starts in two minutes," Jocasta Nu interrupted with a stoic glare, looking none too impressed by their newfound friendship.

Exchanging panicked looks, the three scattered.

…o0o…

 _Later..._

Anakin watched his classmates exit the room before he slipped into the seat closest to Mr. Kenobi's table, resting his datapad on the desk. He opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of his place within this new dynamic they were developing.

Without a word, Obi-Wan shoved a brown bag towards him. At the teenager's look, he motioned with a circular wave for him to go ahead and look through it. "It's not poisonous," he added dryly at Anakin's hesitation.

Anakin chuckled, finally picking through the free food. Inside, there was a plastic cup filled with juna berries, but also a few other additions: a classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich (which wasn't molding, he noted happily), a mini loaf of bread, and a protein bar. It looked really, really good.

"Thanks," he said, feeling a different kind of pressure build behind his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, blinking down at his hands. "I honestly mean it, Mr. Kenobi."

"I know you do, Anakin," he answered back with a nice smile. Anakin found himself relaxing against his will. "Now let's get back to the Four Sages of Dwartii." The older man listed the members from memory and asked, "What did they do?"

Anakin licked off the jelly on his fingers as his other hand brushed the leftover crumbs into the trash. He thought for a moment before replying, and when he did answer, he included some of his own unpolished thoughts on the subject.

Obi-Wan snorted and then covered his mouth with his hand. He rubbed his beard, like that was what he had intended to do from the start, but Anakin saw through him and smiled mischievously. "They had monumental influences on the early development of the constitution," his teacher agreed. "And the word you're looking for is pretentious."

Anakin grinned. "That's it."

They went over three more questions about the foundation of the Republic, before there was a perfunctory knock and then the door was opening. A tall teacher with a severe look strode inside the classroom with a long, regal glance around. Anakin turned in his seat curiously, and Obi-Wan looked up with a light frown. The Count swept to a stop a few feet away from the door, having barely walked into the room; evidently, he wouldn't be staying long.

"Mr. Kenobi," he greeted before turning to a frowning, hunched-over Anakin. Dooku didn't look impressed. "And I take it this is Mr. Skywalker?" He phrased his question to the room at large.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at the way Anakin had immediately made himself smaller, bundling up awkwardly in his uniform, and the boy's smile had vanished completely. "What can I do for you, Count," he asked as he got up and circled around the table. He crossed his arms, standing between Anakin and Dooku, barely realizing he had purposefully obscured the teenager from his friend's view. "You know I'm busy right now."

"Of course," Dooku said, raising his head slightly at the reprimand, "but this can't wait." He smiled tightly, and this time the condescension was minimal, instead replaced with layered concern that he had grown to slowly recognize over the years. What ever happened was serious.

Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing at his beard, feeling the start of a headache. He turned to Anakin, trying for an easy smile. "I'll be right back," he said, waiting for Anakin's nod. "Study the Four Sages," he ordered as an afterthought, and then followed the taller teacher out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Anakin looked at the holopapers on the table and then the closed door. A thought prickled in his mind, poking at his curiosity and suspicions. He glanced at the door again.

Obi-Wan returned less than five standard minutes later, and Anakin leaned back with forced casualness, looking anywhere but at the older men. The Count didn't follow him into the classroom, but he closed the door behind Mr. Kenobi with a pointed look at the teenager before leaving. Kenobi ignored him.

"How far did you get on the Sages?" Obi-Wan asked, settling in his seat as if there had never been any interruption.

Anakin shrugged, still facing away. He looked out the window, seeing the blue sky with minimal cloud coverage, his mind crafting paranoid scenarios. What had Kenobi talked about with the other teacher? Was it about him? Were they laughing at him behind his back? Anakin knew he was a slow learner, but he thought… he didn't know _what_ he thought, but he never thought Kenobi would ever be cruel.

"Anakin? What are you thinking about?" He sounded worried.

 _Good_ , Anakin thought scornfully. But then he looked up, taking in the scrunched eyebrows and the open expression of confusion and care on his teacher's face. Anakin slumped in his seat. He was being overly-critical of himself. Obi-Wan and the other teacher probably just talked about a change in the curriculum or something unrelated to him. Maybe.

"Nothing," he answered, rubbing his neck and turning his eyes to the holopaper on the Sages instead, his stomach in knots.

Obi-Wan didn't seem convinced but he dropped it, asking for more details on the Republic's early beginnings.

By the time the session ended, Anakin was glad to go back to seat and away from Kenobi. He thought he could sense some bewildered hurt from his teacher, but he dismissed it as wishful thinking. His thoughts were too tangled and messy right now for him to think clearly.

…o0o…

It was ten minutes after all the other students had filtered out of the room, but Anakin dutifully remained sitting at his desk while Mr. Kenobi gathered up his materials. The man had finished with his briefcase and was now, oddly, taking down the post-it board for exceptional work, as well as the motivational posters, at a leisurely pace. Despite looking perfectly at ease, Anakin thought Obi-Wan seemed troubled by something as he worked on stripping the color and creativity from the classroom.

After taking the moment to watch his teacher cover up a poster saying, "DO OR DO NOT, THERE IS NO TRY" with a sarcastic-looking frowny-face, Anakin shoved his uniform jacket into his backpack, not caring about the wrinkles. Kenobi turned to look at him from behind his table.

"You don't have to give me a ride, you know," Anakin said for the fifth time in the past three minutes, avoiding his teacher's eyes as he pulled his fraying cloak out of his bag and stretched the thin fabric over himself. "I can take care of myself."

"Nonsense, it's my pleasure," Obi-Wan said, offering the teen a generous smile he didn't want to see. The older man took a step back, surveying the bleak atmosphere of the white room. He turned back to Anakin with a soft look. "And it's much faster than the train."

He shrugged, trying to seem uncaring. "At least you already know where I live," Anakin muttered under his breath.

Obi-Wan heard him, raising a brow. But instead of responding like a normal adult, he started to ominously hum the theme of the classic thriller _Gooberfish_ , wiggling his fingers at Anakin like they were in a horror holovid, and the teen was startled into a laugh as he swung his backpack over a shoulder.

He smirked impishly, and without thinking claimed, "I bet I could take you down, old man."

"You still have much to learn," Obi-Wan parried with a smile in his words, teasing with pretend arrogance, "and you will learn your place, young one."

Anakin walked out the door he was holding open, nodding his thanks to his teacher. In passing, he threatened dramatically with a hooded glare, "You underestimate my power."

Obi-Wan laughed, letting him win their battle of over-the-top dramatics, and Anakin grinned, something soft and warm filling him, like he had just woken up from a dream filled with flowers and roaming shaak. It felt like what he imagined a hug might feel. He smiled down at his boots, and the two started walking side-by-side down the hallway and towards the parking lot. They moved at the same pace, comfortable with each other's presence.

When they passed the teacher's lounge, Anakin couldn't help himself, peeking curiously through the crack in the door as they walked by—

—and the world funneled into nothing, an endless abyss without stars

—it felt like anger, rage...

—he saw deep blackness and then, looking harder, noticed thin silvery spiderwebs spanning out from the corner of his vision in intricate details, growing larger and larger (suffocating, he couldn't breathe helphelphelp)

— _hate_.

"Why are you still here?" someone who wasn't Mr. Kenobi asked lowly, threateningly, his face shadowed by the lights in the room.

Anakin felt dizzy, and he stumbled back, bumping into something smooth and comforting as he felt the need to _get away_ increase with each passing second. A hand rested on his shoulder, keeping him from running, but it wasn't one of Watto's tight grips, instead held loose and protective. Then, within seconds, Obi-Wan switched positions, pulling Anakin behind him even though the teen was as tall as his teacher.

He smiled at the red-tattooed Zabrak, saying with exaggerated mildness, "We were just on our way out, Vice Principal Maul."

Maul squinted around them with a sneer. "Stay safe," he told them mockingly, shoving past the two toward the opposite direction of the parking lot with a barely-noticeable limp that only the trained eye could spot.

Obi-Wan watched him go, not moving, and Anakin tried to catch his breath and slow his heartrate, confused by his overreaction to the vice principal's mere presence. _What the kark just happened?_ he thought, still feeling the aftereffects.

"We should go," the older man said finally into the quiet of the empty hallway. Anakin nodded obediently and followed after his teacher's fast stride, barely a step behind, and this time he actively avoided looking around until they were both buckled into a clean speeder and lifting off towards the lowest levels of the city planet.

Yet, instead of asking the convoluted mess of questions he didn't know how to word, the ride was spent in uneasy silence. Obi-Wan drove the speeder within the legal speeds, but the ride was still faster than Anakin was used to, and they soon arrived a block away from his apartment, hovering above the lot for one of the more popular clubs.

Anakin hopped out of the red-and-white vehicle. Before leaving, he touched the smooth, painted surface gently. Slowly looking up, meeting his teacher's expectant gaze, he could tell that Obi-Wan seemed both anxious and relieved, but his green-blue eyes still held a personal sort of kindness as they stared back at him, waiting patiently for him to finish his thoughts.

"See you tomorrow, Obi-Wan," he finally said and turned on his heel, pulling his black hood over himself and ducking around the corner.

He leaned against the wall and waited until he heard the rumble of the speeder's engine before heading to his apartment. Crossing the street, he noted that the two death stick dealers were absent. There were two new packages for Watto, though, so he picked them up as he made his way into the complex.

.

 _tbc_

.

 **Author's Note** :

(1) "In fact, one time he told a pretty girl she looked really good in the dark." I give you the 2003 cartoon Clone Wars tv series:

" _Perhaps things can change after the war, but for now the Republic needs you. And in the shadows of Coruscant, or any other city, and most importantly in my heart, I will always love you."_

" _Well, you do look really good in the dark."_

Anakin Skywalker, everybody. Not that Padmé is any better though, if I'm being honest.

(2) _Gooberfish_ – Obi-Wan is humming the _Jaws_ theme music.

I also know that I have an odd way of describing the Light and Dark Sides of the Force, so if that small part was weird or confusing, I apologize. This chapter also unintentionally mirrored itself with the beginning and the end sequences. Cool, right? ;)

ANYWAY. Thanks for reading! This chapter was mostly filler but for chapter six, the real plot is back in full-force, I promise. And there will probably be about, hmm, three or four more chapters? We'll see. But you should know that this story was never intended to be long, so it definitely won't be more than ten chapters.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

 **WARNINGS – PLEASE READ** : violence – it is somewhat graphic in this chapter! – and minor character death; child abuse & mild language.

We're also getting to the climax, so consider yourself warned for that, too.

* * *

" _You're a liar and a scoundrel, one of the most corrupt lowlifes in the history of civilization! Am I wrong? I'm never wrong!"_

* * *

As expected, Palpatine had held him in the teacher-administrator meeting longer than usual, and they both knew it had been a purposeful show of power to throw him off balance.

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan hurried up the steps, rehearsing the schedule in his head repeatedly, triple-checking that it was perfect. Today there could be no students talking out of order, no untraditional answers, and absolutely no fun whatsoever. Most of the students already knew the drill by now and would be just as eager to get through the day with no mishaps, but Obi-Wan was mostly worried about how his newest and most unconventional student would take their surprise guest lecturers.

Passing by the teachers' lounge in a blur, barely taking the time to offer the solitary Count a distracted nod, he rushed past the collection of younglings gathering near unlocked doors and fumbled for his keys. The young students watched him, understanding soon dawning on their concerned faces, and they turned to each other with vocal sighs of relief and whispers of pity. He finally unlocked the door and pushed it open, shoving a doorstopper under the edge with his foot.

He glanced at the chronos: seven minutes and 23 seconds.

Obi-Wan deposited his briefcase on the table and then paced back to the classroom door, poking his head out, hoping the younglings were still grouped nearby. Thankfully, two students were pulling notebooks out of a shared locker. They would have to do.

"Hello there," he said, approaching them. They stopped talking and stared at him with wide, mistrustful eyes. Obi-Wan continued bluntly, wasting no time, "I need a favor."

They shared an unsure look, and Obi-Wan turned, leaning on his side to check the time. Six minutes and 45 seconds. He looked back at them, raising a brow.

"What do you need?" the shorter youngling asked, straightening up. Her friend grimaced, eyes sweeping around the hallway anxiously.

"I need you to find the senior class president Padmé Amidala and tell her to com Ferus Olin. They'll know what to do."

"Yes, sir," she answered dutifully, looking over to her Mirialan friend and nodding. "I'll check the library first. Time?"

Obi-Wan mentally cursed at how little time they had, "Less than six minutes, please hurry."

The two scattered in opposite directions to cover more ground. Obi-Wan watched them go, smothering the frustration he felt with himself as he returned to his classroom to finish hiding anything colorful on the walls. Despite working at the school for a solid six years, he never once felt comfortable giving the principal and vice principal control over his class—over his students. The two administrators were twisted souls, and he didn't like being forced into the position of unconcerned bystander.

Minutes passed while Obi-Wan perfected the room in nervous energy, pushing holopapers into drawers and cleansing his table of any personalized items. He turned at the sound of stampeding students.

"Mr. Kenobi!" Ferus Olin exclaimed, flushed and breathing heavily. He swiftly entered the classroom with at least twenty of his cohorts. They clumped together at the entrance, looking lost and very young. Less than three minutes were left on the chronos. " _He's_ teaching today?" Ferus asked needlessly as the group caught their breath.

Obi-Wan nodded, craning his neck to count how many peers the studious teen had managed to contact. Luckily, it was almost a full house, only missing four students. Skywalker wasn't among them, he noted with a twist of dread. "Yes," he said, making eye contact with as many of the teenagers as he could, "You know what to do. Hide your backpacks and straighten your desks, leave only your datapad out. Two minutes."

The students hastily followed his directions, pushing bags into stuffed cupboards and lining up their seats to the faint tape outlined on the ground. One Human boy offered to hide the remaining backpacks in his locker since it was close by, and he made a deal with the thin Anzat girl, who naturally was his physical superior, to drop the items off in record time. The rest of the students finished tidying the room up with Ferus efficiently overseeing them.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan paced down the hallway, heading directly for the Human girl with the colorful make-up and a braided crown of hair. Padmé looked up for a single moment to verify who had bumped into her and then turned back down to her datapad. She aggressively texted someone as she reported, "We've found everyone except Skywalker. The other three have confirmed that they're on their way right now."

He remained as passive as he could, but… Anakin had been fine when he'd dropped him off the other day, what could have changed?

"Anakin's not answering his messages, I'm not sure his datapad's even on," Padmé explained and glanced up, her eyes round with concern. "Do you know his parents' coms? I could try them, see how long he'll be?"

Obi-Wan was shaking his head before she could finish her sentence. "No, his father won't be any help."

Padmé looked curious, but then her face hardened with fortitude as she dismissed her idle, nonessential questions for the more important matter at hand. "I need something to work with here, Mr. Kenobi."

"I don't think there's anything else we _can_ do," he added wryly, "other than leave and find him on our own."

Surprisingly, it looked like Padmé was honestly considering it. Obi-Wan wanted to smile – she was a wonderful woman, compassionate just as much as she was strongminded. He shook his head kindheartedly, "You need to get to class. I'll handle Mr. Skywalker."

She didn't want to leave, he could tell, but it seemed the cold logic won out. "Tell me if there's _anything_ I can do to help. I'm sure Ms. Satine will let me leave class early if you need anything."

"Will do," he said, giving her shoulder a friendly push. She ran down the hallway with only one hesitant look back.

Obi-Wan turned the corner, heading back, just as the warning bell echoed across the grounds. He sped up into a jog, hoping his students had finished fixing up the classroom. Everyone knew that the five-minute warning was inconsequential when Palpatine and Maul were substitute teachers. As it was, he entered the room seconds after their principal glided through the doorway, his dark maroon robes sweeping across the floor like ribbons of blood beneath his expensive boots. Obi-Wan waited for the angry Zabrak to follow, but Maul wasn't anywhere to be seen. He frowned, the feelings of apprehension and wrongness expanding even further.

 _Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts._

Obi-Wan swallowed, watching as Palpatine slammed a book against a student's desk, half the class startling in fear.

"Small children are disgusting," Palpatine hissed, moving to stand in front of the class with a sickly-sweet smile on his face.

There were too many questions tumbling about in his mind, and the situation was starting to make sense in only the worst kind of way. Obi-Wan rubbed his beard, covering his mouth as he stared at Anakin's empty seat with trepidation. Conspiracies were always so messy.

 _Trust your instincts._

"They're like insects, and should be cleansed as early as possible," he continued vindictively, heading down the isle of desks, smirking at the way students reflexively shied away from him. Obi-Wan watched him, his lips pressed tightly together, his arms folded across his chest. Despite himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to follow his dad's advice this time. He had to trust his friends to—

— _Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts_ —

Obi-Wan clenched his fingers around the table. Every logical sign pointed to Anakin being late or absent because of trouble with his horrible guardian. It was only coincidence that Maul skipped teaching today. He may not trust Maul one whit, but he did know that Palpatine adored Anakin; he wouldn't let any harm come to him. Obi-Wan assured himself he was looking for connections when there were none.

The terrible old man turned to peer at him over his shoulder.

Yet Obi-Wan also knew that there was no science to coincidences. Qui-Gon would have trusted his feelings.

Principal Palpatine questioned lightly, "Don't you agree, Mr. Kenobi?"

He nodded his head absently as he made his way out the door, gently closing it behind him.

 _Where are you, Anakin? Please be alright._

…o0o…

The broken cobblestones were slippery this morning, collecting rainwater in the meter-long potholes and shining with pollution rainbows swirling around. Anakin straightened his hood, the dampness seeping through the cheap fabric, and he tried to stick close to rickety awnings along the few shopfronts that remained upright after the panicked riots from last night.

More and more people were abandoning the area as fast as possible. In the darkness of yesterday, the Siths had successfully completed the hit on Ziro the Hutt. The assassin hadn't been seen until it was already too late; half of the purple slug's head had slid off, severed from his neck, rolling onto the ground with ugly squelching sounds as his attendees stared frozen in surprise. Then, barely wasting a second in the aftermath of the murder, the Sith's shadowy empire swooped in, claiming the dead Hutt's spices and territory with a systematized, brutish show of force.

News of the change in leadership spread like a wildfire, reaching every nook and cranny in the underworld of Coruscant and beyond. The Siths had made their move, and it had been a _big_ one. This was no longer a local conflict but the first developments of war on a galactic scale. Jabba of Tatooine and other prominent crime lords from Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa had already posted large bounties on the unknown Sith lord, ineffectual though it was.

Despite being far removed from the gang war, even Anakin felt the desire the flee the area – to leave Coruscant all together. The Siths had been expanding their territory gradually over the course of the past few months, but to assassinate a _Hutt_? That was suicidal. What kind of power were the Siths hiding to be so crazily confident in themselves? Watto refused to leave town, though, claiming business was booming and that he wasn't related to the crime factions, so he should be safe. Anakin didn't agree, but it wasn't like he had the power to leave on his own.

Something squeaked in the distance and a flash of a dark shape appeared at the corner before disappearing.

Anakin felt his heartrate speed up, thundering against his ribcage as cold sweat broke out on his skin.

He shouldn't have left this morning, he should have skipped school. He had a _very bad_ feeling right now. Taking a quick look around, Anakin bundled himself in the shade of an empty storefront and unzipped his backpack as quietly as possible, slowly removing his datapad. He would just message Obi-Wan his location and maybe the older man would be willing to drive down here and pick him up…

His ears popped as a familiar _snap-hiss_ electrified the air.

Gods, _please no._ Not _so_ _soon._ He needed more time!

Anakin turned around, his blue eyes wide and bright. Fear and helpless rage curled around his heart like a Krayt dragon, squeezing the air out of his lungs as he faced the figure of his most recent nightmares. From the blackness, the demon's bleeding lightsaber was held aloft, like a finger pointing to the heavens.

Scrambling for his vibroblade, dropping his datapad on the ground to get use of both his hands, Anakin was only fast enough to dodge the kick to the head but not to his abdomen. Curling into himself with a grunt, he reached desperately for his own weapon. He heard more than saw the assassin's combat boots break his datapad, the splintering of glass roaring in his ears.

He had the awful feeling he wouldn't be able to escape unscathed this time.

Just as the assassin advanced, the teen freed his vibroblade from his boot. Coughing into the dirt, Anakin forced himself upright as he faced the assassin. The thing's molten eyes were miasmic with danger and dislike, storming like solar flares in the cold vacuum of space.

Anakin tried to still his trembling. "I h-have nothing for you," he attempted to reason, his breath coming in rapid-fire gasps. "I swear, I swear."

"You have _everything_ ," the monster shrieked, brandishing his laser sword with a wide swipe. "But this time I'll be able to prove to my Master that you're nothing."

Master? Was the assassin a slave like him?

"Maybe we can come to an agreement," Anakin pleaded, backing up slowly. Sooner than he'd like, though, he felt the cold, wet brick of the storefront at his back. "I'll talk to your… master, and we can—?"

" _NO_!" the laser-sword melted through the brick in a diagonal slash where Anakin had been standing, leaving jumping sparks in its wake. Anakin crawled upright faster than he had ever moved before.

He needed to get _away_ , but he knew he couldn't run backwards, not in the cluttered streets of the underworld. Anakin, still facing the armed assassin, backed into the open street as his senses scattered around, feeling for any kind of advantage. He attuned himself the broken windows, long street lamps, upside-down trashcans… none of it was of any use and there were no people nearby. He had nothing.

The black-masked assassin lunged forward, and the plasma seared through the vibroblade like it was soft blue butter. The fifteen-year-old tossed the severed hilt at the assassin for lack of anything better to do, and the creature laughed maniacally as he swatted it away with a gloved hand.

 _I don't want to die_ , Anakin thought, staring at the red shimmer with both hate and unbidden awe. There was a burst of light above them, glass crackling and popping, and then he was swallowed by cold darkness as the squealing sound of massive infrastructure sliding against metal collapsed around him in an explosion of debris.

" _WHAT_ —?!"

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Feel, don't think._

.

 _Please be alright._

.

 _Trust your instincts._

.

 _Where are you, Anakin?_

 _._

 _._

… _Ani? Wake up!_

 _._

His eyes moved rapidly behind his eyelids before fluttering open. As his eyesight adjusted to the dim lighting, Anakin groggily tried to get up, feeling immediately confused, disoriented, and scared. Metal rattled with each tiny movement, he realized, so he pulled at his wrists, scuffing the raw skin but allowing the freezing chains to catch the faintest glow of light from an open skylight on the ceiling.

What… where was he? Why wasn't he dead on the streets of the Coruscant?

Swallowing, Anakin tried to level himself. He was already feeling the start of a panic attack, his breathing becoming irregular and shallow. Maybe… maybe this was a good thing? Perhaps he could use something here to escape and get away.

"Why does my Master want you so badly?" the hooded demon asked from the shadows, a whisper-like quality to his voice. The sound echoed ominously in the empty room, traveling down similarly vacated hallways and empty space. "Why are you his _Chosen One_?"

Anakin's breath caught in his throat. The hate felt _familiar_ , but there was no way, it couldn't be… Anakin clenched his fists, tugging at his chains again.

The creature moved closer, a gloved hand suddenly holding his chin in a bruising grip. He moved the teen's face to the side, his eyes alight with cruel consideration. Then, in one smooth motion, the demon stepped backwards and out of Anakin's space, disappearing into the shadows once more.

Minutes past in silence. Anakin knew with absolute certainty that the monster was still there, watching.

"What do you want from me!" Anakin screamed at the top of his lungs, glaring angrily with bright eyes, kicking his tied legs and pulling at the chains around his arms. The metal clattered together, echoing around him. "Just kill me already, _you karking, puffee patogga kankee poodoo_!"

"Tell me how you brought down the buildings," he ordered from all around Anakin. "And I might let you live."

The teen laughed humorlessly. "What? Brought down _what_?"

"Tell me, or I'll _make_ you."

Anakin jerked helplessly at his chains – there was nothing he could tell the demon even if he wanted to.

…o0o…

"Stop it! _Please_!" He couldn't hold back the tears, sobbing uncontrollably as he struggled to remain motionless on the ground. The masked assassin leaned in, his yellow eyes rimmed red and glinting with loathing. The weapon hovered above his right eye, plasma streams crackling and sparking hungrily in the dry air. The containing force field on the advanced weapon kept Anakin from feeling the sun-like amount of heat stored in the heart of the red flame, but if the monster moved it an inch lower…

" _Aaaahhhhhh!"_ he cried out, trying to turn his head as pain erupted against the skin around his right eye. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated unendingly, stuttering into the ground and swallowing dust and dirt. His entire face felt numb.

"Stop screaming!" the thing growled, raising the saber off the pink, bubbling skin. The bloody light cast long, violent shadows over the two of them, sharp and menacing. "Stop it!"

Anakin bit his tongue, choking on his sobs. He just wanted it to _end_.

"I didn't do anything," he wept, "I don't know what you want from me!"

It was just the two of them. They were alone: a professional assassin and a slave boy. There would be no security officers to the rescue, no unseen hope. The dark-lit building was tucked away kilometers from any possibility of compassionate life forces. He was on his own.

When the assassin climbed on top of him, Anakin bucked, twisting and scrambling for any kind of control. His bleeding wrists complained, but he paid no attention to the open wounds. The evil monster growled, leaning down and pressing his full body weight against the teen, strong and powerful. The lightsaber thrummed alive again, inches from his neck.

Anakin clenched his jaw, his teary blue eyes staring back.

He wanted it to stop.

 _Please be alright. I'm coming – I will find you._

…to stop. His face hardened.

The corner of his mind—untouched in years, covered in silvery cobwebs that glittered like ice fragments—burst alive with a melodious song of power that had been held covetingly from within the center of its web. A silky blackness sung around him, sweet and soft and loving. The power felt intoxicating – and most importantly, it was within his reach. Yes, he agreed, nodding along to the music in his head. Reaching out with trembling fingers, Anakin closed his eyes and breathed in the darkness just as he felt the heat from the laser sword by his neck.

He felt _life_ beneath his fingers, an ugly ball of emotions and feelings, so he _squeezed_ with all his might, trying to get the little ball to pop and break and die. He didn't hear the assassin start choking, he didn't feel the lean body roll off him with black-gloved fingers grasping futilely at a suffocating throat.

The power felt so good, and Anakin never wanted to let go. His fingers moved to pinch out the festering ball of life—

 _Where are you?_ the little star on the horizon wondered kindly, twinkling in the deep, empty space with faint rays of yellow. _Show me a sign, Anakin._

 _I'm here,_ he mouthed, relaxing his hands, his throat dry and sore, but then he repeated himself louder into the echoing chamber, _I'm here!_

The sunlight burst alive, dancing across the barren space and scaring away turbulent waves of blackness.

He saw blackness. He saw whiteness. Then he saw nothing at all.

Anakin burst upright like he has just resurfaced from a deep swim, awareness trickling back with each passing moment. Seconds went by, and then the teen was blinking confusedly at the sound of someone fitfully hacking nearby.

Was that—had _he_ done that?

Unnoticed, the round hilt of the assassin's lightsaber rolled silently across the floorboards, stopping gently against the wall where he was chained.

Anakin wiggled his fingers hesitantly, wanting to go back to the comforting song to confirm that it was his own power that had done… that. But at the same time, he never wanted to hear that enchanting tune again, not with how quickly he had fallen into its web.

"..kill.. you," the assassin croaked roughly, still hunched over on the ground with one hand massaging his neck.

Anakin narrowed his eyes and then regretted it as the skin around his right eye protested. He should have killed the assassin – at least then, the demon wouldn't be able to try to kill him again.

"Hello?" a heavily Coruscant-accented voice called out tentatively into the abandoned building.

Anakin gaped. Was that _Mr. Kenobi_? What was he doing here? How had he found him?

"OBI-WAN! I'M OVER HERE!" he yelled deafeningly. "HELP!"

The demon shot him a glare, getting to his feet in a jerky wobble. He looked at his fisted hands for a deliberating moment, but it was milliseconds too long, for footsteps were already reverberating loudly from the adjacent hallway. With a grace he didn't deserve, the assassin jumped and caught the edge of the skylight, pulling himself out of the small hole and then out of sight. He got away… _again,_ as Anakin watched him pathetically from the ground.

Next time...

Obi-Wan burst into the room like an angel from Iego. "Anakin!" he shouted, hastening over to him, falling to his knees and probably getting a friction burn from the speed of the movement. He closely inspected the chains around the teen's wrists and the rope around his legs. "Oh my…" he muttered, more to himself than Anakin, and tears sprang into the older man's eyes when he took in the blistering, puckered line on the teen's pale skin. How could he have let this happen? He had known there was this possibility, but he hadn't… he'd thought… Oh _gods_ , Anakin deserved so much better. He should have never let it get to this point!

"I'm so sorry," he choked out as he concentrated on unlocking the metal cuffs. The teen watched his teacher work on freeing him. It took some time, but Obi-Wan managed to loosen the latch enough that Anakin could slip his wet-with-blood hands out of the rusty loops.

"It's not your fault, Obi-Wan," Anakin murmured, and he tenderly rested a hand on his shoulder, ducking down to smile into Obi-Wan's teary face. "You saved me."

And with slow, careful movements that he made sure the older man could see, Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan's stomach. He rested his chin on the man's shoulder and closed his eyes, warm and comfortable. Obi-Wan sniffled. Soon, arms encircled Anakin too, sweet and caring and full of love. They remained like that for some time, with the broken cuffs littering the floor and small puddles of blood seeping through the cracks in the floorboards. _Together_.

For a brief moment when he opened his eyes, Anakin's eyes glowed gold.

.

 _tbc_

.

 **Author's Note:** _karking puffee patogga kankee poodoo_ translates roughly to: _f-ing, smoking pie of shit_ in Huttese (I tried, guys, I tried).

Also, Maul should have totally killed Anakin when he had him on the ropes rather than being curious about his Force power. Oh greed, what a 'very powerful ally it can be'… for your rival, hehe… And I'm sorry for how dark this chapter came out to be, but from the beginning I had always intended to make the "chokey" scene in _Matilda_ the equivalent to Anakin getting his eye-scar-thing in this story. But yeah, you may need to suspend some disbelief this chapter for how Anakin isn't immediately killed. Please just go with it.

As well, please make sure you take care of yourself. If this chapter was too hard for you to read, try and reach out to a loved one to decompress. And if you have no one to talk to, you're certainly welcome to message me! Your health is very important! Be safe and kind to yourself, okay?


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